


Victory

by wigglebox



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Arranged Marriage, Dean/Cas Big Bang 2020 (Supernatural), Emotional/Psychological Abuse, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Frottage, Gun Violence, I Love You, Inspired by Romeo and Juliet, John Winchester Being an Asshole, M/M, Physical Abuse, Public Blow Jobs, Religion, Religious Content, Religious Guilt, Self-Discovery, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Teasing, suicide discussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:41:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 81,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27630164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wigglebox/pseuds/wigglebox
Summary: Life has a certain way in Worthington.For Dean Winchester, the last of his family to remain in town, it includes trying to rile up the head of a rival, affluent, and powerful family: The Charlestons.Things were bleak until Dean accidentally stumbles across a captivating member of the Charlestons he had never met before.Castiel has returned home after a miserably failed attempt at becoming a priest post-college. He’s instantly thrown back in the strong grip of his family’s politics but meets a young man in town that shows Cas the door that would help him escape his harsh life.They want each other, they want a happy ending, but will past histories and family demands threaten that dream, or can they push through the noise for the sake of love?
Relationships: Benny Lafitte & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Lee Webb & Dean Winchester, attempted Hannah/Castiel
Comments: 57
Kudos: 86
Collections: DCBB 2020, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. One

It wasn’t the first time Dean broke into the South Hill Country Club, but he knew that it would probably be his last. 

He knew the way in by heart: Hop the fence on Hollow Way at the back end of the green, walk on the path between the 18th and 9th holes until he got to the fifth sand-trap, then duck into the little bank of trees until the camera swiveled the other way. It usually got stuck there for a few minutes if the humidity got too high. Once the coast was clear, rush to one of three maintenance sheds on the property. From there, walk along the narrow paved path out back that went from the clubhouse to the shed. There were three places to stop and hide from the cameras until they looked the other way, then, voilà, arrive at the back entrance to the clubhouse. 

It was Dean’s fifth time at South Hill in the last year, and as he shimmied open the lock, he remained amazed no one had put more security on the property. The damage Dean did wasn’t enough for a felony charge, he hoped, but he figured each time he visited there’d be something new to dodge. But, time after time, the journey remained the same. 

Trashing the place was Dean’s therapy session, that’s what he told himself. His brother consistently nagged him about seeing “a professional” but Dean rejected the idea every time, with force. It was easier and more satisfying, not to mention cheaper, letting the air out of golf cart tires and spray painting dicks all over the walls. 

For Dean, defacing the pride and joy of the Charleston family was his punching bag. 

The place was ugly. Dean knew he was biased in his opinion, but the place was _ugly_. If people in Worthington had the balls to say it, they would. 

The lock finally gave way and hung open. Dean slipped inside into the industrial kitchen, which he deemed the only normal-looking place in the building. 

From there, he made his way into the large dining room area full of round tables covered with white sheets trapped by circles of glass on top. On them were overly-smelly flowery candles whose scent reminded Dean of a bathroom spray, and there were more utensils on the tables than Dean knew what to do with. He never understood why rich people needed five forks. 

The worst part about the dining room area wasn’t the tables or the rug they grabbed straight out of the ‘60s. It was the gigantic fireplace against the western wall. The stones were large, pale and looked like a faded giraffe print extending all the way up into the vaulted ceiling, past the wooden beams. On it were several animal heads and plaques, each for some kind of hunting whatever or award something. The thing stood out but only in a way an eyesore could. 

Past the dining room, Dean walked into the sports bar area. The place had one window, six large flat-screen TVs, and two bar counters on either side of each other. Those who didn’t want to go golfing, or wanted to watch football in the dead of winter without their wives, would flock to that room. The leather chairs and walls smelled of stale tobacco but the resin counters remained scratch-free and the bottles shone, even with the minimal light. On the walls hung more animal heads and trophies.

Dean always started there first. He never did major damage—his friend Lee worked there—but just enough to put a smile on his face. He had used a knife the first time he came to South Hill to carve a small, crude dick into the lower right-hand corner of one of the bars. Each time Dean came back to the place, he went to see if it was still there. It always greeted him in the small beam of light when Dean would crack the door open. Even Lee hadn’t found it yet.

What he liked doing the most was taking a trout he caught the day before and shoving it in the bear’s head, letting it sit out in the warm room for hours, sometimes days, until someone noticed. Lee hated it, but on those days, elected to work at the bar out in the dining room. 

That was Dean’s plan on this visit.

With the fish in place and a little tap on his carving for good luck, Dean moved into the garage where the golf carts sat. Three cameras guarded the space, but Dean was able to hide behind shelves just to the right of the doorway. The cameras didn’t turn to get a full picture so he didn’t have to keep waiting for them to swivel away before unscrewing the caps on the tires. 

After the carts, his usual track would take him to the basement where he’d then take spray paint and spray more obscene pictures in the corners. He didn’t do the whole wall because more damage equaled more charges. Instead, he liked to think of the pictures as little presents that someone could discover while rummaging around for their cleaning supplies.

After the basement was said and done, Dean took a second stairwell up that put him back in the dining room. 

Before he came, Dean had decided he deserved to have a little more fun that night. It’s what lead to the confirmation that this would probably have to be the last time he visited. He could only push the envelope so far. 

This night, he had brought with him some honey to attract some ants to the carpet and super glue for the utensils (not all of them, Dean decided. Just enough where they’d have to go around and check each and every one). He loosened the screws on some of the wooden chairs and carved more crude pictures on the underside of said chairs.

It gave Dean the hit of satisfaction he had been looking for.

As Dean turned the last chair over, smiling to himself, a bright, blinding light filled his sight, slightly dazing him. Nearby shouting caused panic to spread like wildfire throughout Dean. Heart in his throat, he tried to leap up from his position but his legs had fallen asleep from crouching down for so long. 

“Hey! Stop right there, Dean!”

Dean felt hands gripping his upper arm and he was pulled to his feet by two—

He blinked. 

Police officers. 

He didn’t struggle and dropped his knife. It landed in front of polished black leather shoes and a perfectly tailored pant hem. 

Dean didn’t have to look up to know who it was. 

The Charlestons were both widely revered and equally hated in the town of Worthington. Those who hated them had good reasons to. The Charlestons were real estate developers who liked to prey on rural inhabitants. 

They had kicked a handful of farmers off their land in order to build South Hill, bullied Mr. Framingham out of _his_ land for a shopping center that was as big an eyesore as South Hill, and were extremely persistent in bothering several people in town to try and buy their business. They were viewed as cold and aloof, tipped badly, and some believed they had greased the pockets of the mayor and police department. 

The folks in town who refrained from criticism often wanted something from them or sat just below them on the tax bracket. They were the rich families that had moved out of the “big bad violence-ridden” cities and wanted to park their fancy asses in a cute farm town with lots of land to build on. 

But some in town, usually older folk, complied with the Charlestons’wishes, feeling like the family was entitled to what they wanted to do given that they had founded the town. 

Dean often countered that argument with the undisputed fact that his own family also founded the town. 

The history depended on who you asked.

In 1854, the Charlestons and Winchesters had set out together after the territory opened up to settlements. They landed on the spit of land that later turned into Worthington. No one knew where the name came from. 

Both families had farms; both families sent word back to other friends and family; both had helped in growing the area’s population. 

The Civil War split them, according to historians, but there weren’t any additional details other than unsubstantiated claims. But, Dean figured local historians were more biased in saying the Charlestons provided the town with more prosperity than the Winchesters simply because the Charlestons donate a hefty sum of money every year to the Historical Society.

As the town grew, the Winchesters were more or less forgotten following decades of bad choices which left them straddling the poverty line and made them frequent visitors to Alcoholics Anonymous. 

The two families, after decades and decades of deep fracturing, grew to despise each other.

In fact, the goal for both, at least in Dean’s eyes, was to make life in Worthington so unbearable for the other that they’d want to leave. 

Dean was now the last Winchester left. 

Which made his actions pretty fucking stupid.

“You’re not the most subtle person in the world, Dean,” Michael Charleston sighed while picking up the knife. “Was I supposed to believe that a twelve-year-old did all this?”

Dean didn’t want to look Michael in the eyes. Out of all the Charlestons, he hated Michael the most.

“Answer me.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean lifted his head, wishing his eyeballs really could throw daggers, “I have the right to remain silent.”

The officers tightened their grip on Dean’s arm and he winced. 

Michael smirked but the smile did not reach his eyes, making him look as soulless as Dean believed him to be. He stepped forward and pointed the knife in Dean’s face, only inches away from the bridge of his nose. 

Dean refused to look at it and instead kept his glare on Michael. It was a game of chicken. The police may have been in the Charlestons’ pocket but Michael wasn’t stupid enough to severely injure someone, even if it was Winchester. 

That’d be getting your hands too dirty in a small town where other families wouldn’t mind taking the top spot right out of your hands. 

Michael stuck to psychological pain. 

“If I catch you here again I will press charges, you will be arrested, and you will face a significant time behind bars,” Michael threatened, his voice low as if he was trying to hide his words from an invisible crowd. “Do I make myself clear?” 

This is where the mental games would begin. Michael could easily have Dean carted off, tossed behind bars, and forgotten about with the snap of his fingers. 

But he didn’t. Dean knew this game. 

“Absolutely crystal, your majesty,” Dean shot back, knowing Michael wouldn’t snap just yet. At first, he thought it would finally happen, but the longer they stood there, it became clear Michael wasn’t done playing with his food.

“Good. Now get the hell off my property,” Michael ordered, pointing with the knife toward the front door. 

There was that part of Dean, that really deep down part, that made him want to reach into his back pocket for his lighter and set the curtains ablaze as he walked out. The fire department was notoriously slow in this area, and the monstrosity would be gone.

But he didn’t. He kept the adrenaline-fueled fantasy to himself as he hiked up his bag and walked out of the building without looking back.


	2. Two

A full week later, Dean once again looked stupid in the face and said “fuck it”.

He wasn’t alone in his mission as he practically dragged Benny with him, promising a few rounds of drinks afterward. And Lee would be there, earning some extra money as a for-rent bartender so at least there would be one friendly face.

Dean was gonna crash the Charlestons’ 4th of July party.

It was a huge risk. Michael knew Lee’s face, he was his employer, and he never really cared about Benny, probably never remembered who he was. 

But Dean’s face could probably be spotted across a ten-acre field by Michael. 

If he was seen by the wrong person at this party, Dean was toast. He pushed his luck the previous week at South Hill. He didn’t know how many chances he had left.

“Why couldn’t you just text her or wait until after the party?” Benny’s voice cut through Dean’s nervous thoughts. 

Dean frowned and took out his phone, tapping on his text messages. 

“She left me on read that night and when I went to her house yesterday she wouldn’t open the door,” Dean answered, looking at all the unanswered texts he sent. He purposefully didn’t apologize, knowing it’s better to do it in person—though Dean supposed it was hard to do that when he also wasn’t wanted in person.

But he had to apologize somehow.

The morning after Dean’s encounter with Michael at South Hill, he had received a text from his girlfriend saying they “had to talk”. Dean, already coming off of the adrenaline high from the previous night and operating on 3 hours of sleep, felt the earth drop from under him.

Those words never promised anything good.

It wasn’t like Dean didn’t know it was coming, but it was going to hurt nonetheless. 

Cassie was a smart girl, smarter than Dean and his friends, smarter than most in that town. She was pretty, strong-willed, and it was only a matter a time before she realized Worthington held her back. Dean couldn’t blame her. 

He had braced himself for the impact, but it hadn’t helped once she sat him down and informed him of a new job offer at the Denver Post. In Dean’s head, for some reason, he figured even if she moved away it would be to Kansas City or something nearby. Not all the way to Colorado. 

Somehow, Dean had managed to be a jackass, smartass, and dumbass all in one shot. Things that had been building between them for a couple weeks at that point started to spill out: He accused her of not caring about their future, she accused him of not thinking they were ever going to have a future, he denied that, and she denied his accusation, but it didn’t end there. 

There had been an unspoken truth between them since they got together three months prior: Dean was never going to leave Worthington that easily. 

He became caught in the space between “I love you” and “but just not enough to follow you”. Dean understood that once Cassie had decided to leave, whenever it would be, the conversation wouldn’t be pleasant. 

Guilt had started to creep up on him a couple of weeks ago after Lee made the comment that Dean was just “using her” if he already knew they had no future. 

But Dean didn’t want to acknowledge that there would be no chance. Some small part wanted something to change. 

It just never did. 

And yet, Dean was now walking into the lion’s den to try and find her, to apologize, unable to let her leave with what he said being his parting words. That miniscule part of him still wanted to believe that maybe one day he would realize what he missed out on, fly out to Denver, and leave Worthington behind. Dean knew that he was desperately clinging to her as some kind of magic spark that would inspire him to change his life’s course. It was unfair, Dean knew it, but it didn’t change his course of action.

“But you still couldn’t just wait—” 

“She’s leaving in three days to look at apartments and I don’t know when she’ll be back,” Dean cut Benny off, pocketing his phone, trying to swallow his nerves. She wasn’t unkind, but she had a sharp tongue on her that Dean found hot most of the time, but now it terrified him. 

His mind was a mess as it tried to sort through the contradicting desires and fears all tangled up into each other. If Cassie was as smart as Dean knew she was, she wouldn’t take him back. 

Not with all the baggage.

It initially looked like almost the entire town showed up for the party but that would negate the fact that Michael hated most of the people in the town. No one looked familiar, leading Dean to believe most were from nearby suburbs. 

Benny parked three streets away and made their way down on the other side of the main street that led to the Charleston residence. The only way in (without being seen) was through a back garden fence down a slight hill that, according to Lee, no one paid attention to and was sure to be unlocked. 

The fence was mercifully long and there were hedges on the outside of it, obscuring Benny and Dean even further from any wandering eyes. 

They had conspired in the car that they should have an excuse if stopped. Benny suggested they say they were part of the gardening staff or something similar. Dean had entertained the idea for a second, before frowning and shaking his head.

“My dad worked here, remember?”

“That’s what I’m saying, maybe they’ll have our backs,” Benny had explained.

Dean thought about his father’s past coworkers and how it all ended for them. He doubted if any of them were left that they would have his and Benny’s backs, but he didn’t let Benny know that.

It was still a very sore sport. 

The gate was unlatched as Lee promised, and Dean slipped into the yard first. Few people stood in the back garden, not bothering to turn their heads and see the new arrivals, too engrossed in their conversations.

But, looking back up the small hill, a sea of people waited for them. 

“How’re you gonna find her in all this?” Benny asked, eyes darting around, trying to find the bar tent that housed Lee.

Dean shrugged and sighed, “Well, she’s a black girl in a sea of rich, white, midwestern freaks so I’m sure it won’t take long.”

With that, they parted ways and Dean did his best to remain the Invisible Boy. 

Finding Cassie turned out to be a pretty damn hard thing to do.

The front doors to the house were closed, meaning everyone was outside and not venturing into the Charleston estate so there was no need for Dean to figure out how to get in.

He slid along the edges of various large, white party tents, remaining on the outskirts of numerous conversations ranging anywhere from banking investments to gossip. Dean had to keep his face down, staring at the ground in case wandering eyes found him. 

But still, even with the challenges, it should have been easier to find Cassie by now. She didn’t hang out with these kinds of people and had told Dean a week ago she was going to the party to do some networking. Cassie wouldn’t be embedded in a group of gossiping, martini-holding mothers who relied on their husbands’ fortunes to get by. 

Dean eventually lapped the entire front and side yard with the fear of being caught soon replaced by confusion. There was the possibility Cassie never wound up coming—it was a strong possibility, but she said two weeks ago—

Ending where he started, Dean almost called it quits when he saw a group of young women hanging out closer to the back edge of the garden near the gate. Dean couldn’t place names, but one of them looked vaguely familiar, a local, and he could have sworn he’s seen her with Cassie a few times. 

Dean glanced around to make sure he hadn’t been spotted before moving. 

“Hey—hi,” Dean started, awkward and uncomfortable. The whole party made him feel small. He hated it. And the women who barely looked up from their phones didn’t help. But he pressed on in a rush. “I was wondering if you knew where Cassie Robinson was?” 

There was a brief pause, and Dean was certain they would just regard him with contempt before dismissing him, but the familiar one pointed to a doorway close by, almost completely hidden by bushes and a trellis if you weren’t at the right angle. 

“In there—or was the last time I saw.”

Dean nodded but didn’t say anything. The nerves were back, and he kept replaying the apology in his head as he approached the entryway.

The entryway led to an open door, which allowed access into a modest-sized kitchen with various house plants inside and a skylight on the high ceiling. The lighting felt cold with concrete and stainless steel countertops and appliances, and lack of any personal objects to indicate anyone utilized the room. 

But someone _was_ in the room. 

Dean heard someone rummaging around inside a walk-in pantry, the open door blocking his vision to see who it was. They were the only other ones in the room, but confusion grew in Dean once more. Cassie wasn’t familiar enough with the Charlestons to barge into their kitchen and steal their food.

“I’m guessing you didn’t like the crab cakes if you have to steal their Doritos,” Dean joked as he approached the open door. 

In response, a bag of something fell to the floor and whoever inside mumbled something. And it wasn’t a woman. 

Before he could retreat, Dean watched as someone backed out of the pantry with various provisions in their arms—

—and that someone was definitely not Cassie. 

Instead, it was a disgruntled looking man, Dean gathered not much older than himself. He had on a white button-down, a pair of slacks, matching the dress code of the party, but looking more business than casual. He carried a jar of peanut butter, jelly, a loaf of bread, and a large bag of Cape Cod potato chips in his arms. The chips almost immediately fell as the man turned around to the kitchen island

“Man, I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else,” Dean said, bending down to pick up the bag, attempting to ignore his embarrassment.

The man turned around as Dean placed the chips on the counter, and under the sunlight, Dean was given a better look at him; messy dark brown hair, bright blue eyes contrasted with dark “I haven’t slept in a week” circles under them, and a red, white and blue tie that looked to be his only attempt at celebrating the holiday. He didn’t look like he was there to party at all and instead sit down and do their taxes.

The stranger dumped the items on the kitchen island next to the chips and glanced at Dean before pulling open a utensil drawer. 

“That’s okay. I’m allergic to the crab puffs, so you weren’t too far off.”

Dean, who should have just left, felt an overwhelming need to diffuse the awkwardness, “So you go for PB&J? That seems like a downgrade.”

The man sighed and set the butter knife down, staring at the half-mad sandwich.

“It is, but everything else out there tastes like—I don’t know,” he said, unscrewing the jelly jar. “But it’s bad. Peanut butter and jelly has never disappointed me.”

Dean couldn’t help but smile as he watched a grown-ass man gently place a PB&J sandwich in place and use the knife to cut it diagonally. Compared to the scenery outside, it was absurd.

“Yeah, but, you’re using Smuckers,” Dean pointed as the man opened the bag of chips. “Everyone knows Welch’s is superior.”

_What the hell are you doing._

The man screwed the cover back on, and a corner of his mouth turned up in one of the smallest smiles Dean had ever seen. 

“I didn’t get to buy it,” he said, taking his plate in one hand and extending the other to Dean. “I’m Castiel.”

“I’m Dean Wi—,” Dean stopped himself just in time. “My name’s Dean. And now I realize what happened.”

“What?” 

“I was looking for a Cassie, I think the person I asked didn’t hear me right.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know who that is.”

“You don’t know her?” Dean frowned, confused. Her family was well established in the town and she was well-liked by mostly everyone. “That’s hard to believe unless you’re not from here.”

“She’s popular?” Castiel took the plate over to a small table in the corner of the kitchen.

Dean shrugged and nodded, “Yeah you could say that. So you’re not from here?”

“I’m from Worthington, just haven’t spent much time here. So you were expecting her to be in this kitchen?” 

_What is this, twenty questions?_ Dean asked himself. But he still decided to answer, going against that part of him that kept wanting to leave, reminding Dean that he was still in hostile waters.

“No—I mean, I thought she was going to be at this party, but this place is huge and I couldn’t find her.”

Castiel gave Dean a quick up-and-down before turning to his food. Dean shifted, the awkwardness settling in again. He had tried his best to match the attire everyone else had—was that a test? 

Was Castiel about to sound the alarm?

 _He doesn’t know who you are_ , Dean reminded himself. 

“Yes, I get lost in here myself.”

“So why are you in here when you could easily eat that outside,” Dean gestured to the uneaten sandwich. 

“I’m hiding.”

“Hiding? Like what, you got someone out there that pinches cheeks a little too hard?” 

“No, more like the party is for me, but I don’t like being around this many people. And I never like the food here.”

Dean crossed his arms, watching as Castiel played with a chip, “I thought this was a fourth of July party?”

“It’s both. Fourth of July and I just got home from my graduate program at Notre Dame.”

Something wasn’t clicking in Dean’s head, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. 

“You got some powerful friends if they just invite three towns' worth of people to celebrate you coming back from college.”

Castiel snapped a chip but still didn’t eat it, staring at the table. 

“Not friends—none of these people are my friends, I don’t know who any of them are. I don’t even know who you are.”

Dean’s brain began shouting at him to leave before he got trapped in there and Michael found him. Lady luck would soon grow tired of his toeing the line.

But the man in front of him was the first person he had come across this afternoon that seemed somewhat normal, at least in the sense he wasn’t faking a laugh or looking at Dean with some kind of thinly veiled contempt.

And it was clear Castiel wasn’t like the hoard outside.

Dean decided to stay, at least until he could tell he wasn’t wanted anymore. He checked his phone to make sure Benny hadn’t been trying to get a hold of him as Castiel took a bite of his sandwich. 

“Well I don’t know many people here either, and I’m allergic to crab,” Dean said, sighing. “You got any other food in here?” 

Castiel paused mid-bite and nodded toward the pantry door. 

Inside were shelves of junk food from popcorn to candy and everything in between. Dean grabbed a thing of skittles and ripped it open, trying to figure out how to get to the next step in the conversation. He cleared his throat and stood by the island. 

“What did you major in at Notre Dame?” Dean asked casually, not knowing much of anything about college. “I heard that was a good school.”

He actually had no idea.

Castiel sighed like Dean had just asked him the meaning of life. 

“I have a PhD in Theology,” he mumbled, breaking another chip, staring at his plate.

Theology, Dean groaned inwardly. He was talking to a Jesus freak. Even worse: A _smart_ Jesus freak.

“That sounds… interesting,” Dean said, nodding his head like he understood the sheer will power and delusional spirit someone had to have in order to study the Bible as a career.

But, to his mild surprise, Castiel smiled as he put another chip in his mouth. It was a slightly more committed smile, and just given the stress lines on his face, it was clear Castiel didn’t smile often.

“It wasn’t interesting at all,” Castiel said, ignoring the sandwich and eating another chip. “It's like being at Mass for eight years and never getting a break.”

Dean smirked, “I’ve never been to Mass, so—paint the picture for me.”

“Really?” Castiel sounded surprised as he looked over to Dean with his eyebrows raised. It was an unusual statement to make. Everyone in flyover country went to church. “Well—I guess you can count your blessings. It can be very boring.”

Dean finished the skittles and leaned over to toss the wrapper into the garbage bin shaking his head. The guy was a little strange, but also pretty interesting—who spends that much money on that much schooling only to call it boring?

“I’m all ears,” he said as Cas pushed his plate away. “Not hungry?”

Cas shook his head, “You were right. Smuckers is disappointing.” 

He pushed a chair with his foot and Dean walked over to take it, now completely invested in staying in the strange garden kitchen with the strange man who promised an interesting conversation. 

As a rule, Dean didn’t talk much about himself, especially not to strangers. He never had interesting stories compared to others, he didn’t need unsolicited advice on how to live his life, and he just couldn’t ever muster up the energy to deal with that kind of conversation. Some people, over the course of Dean’s life, didn’t mind telling him they thought he had been too cavalier with his life. 

He expected it from a guy who had his nose buried in holy scripture for his whole life, but Castiel didn’t seem to be interested in passing judgement—which worked well for Dean because he couldn’t shut his mouth. 

It was also the longest conversation Dean had with someone in a long while.

Castiel spoke most in the beginning with Dean asking the questions. His brain kept firing them off with the realization this guy was almost the polar opposite of everyone else in Dean’s orbit. 

His brother, Sam, was the only other person Dean knew that went to college. Another prestigious school, another prestigious career. But, they hadn’t spoken since Sam flew the coop two years ago, so Dean never had his curiosity settled. 

Castiel had gone into every detail Dean wanted to know, which made Dean wonder if this was the longest conversation Castiel had with anyone in a while as well.

“But _why_ major in Theology and get a masters and sh-stuff?” Dean held back the curse word—Castiel didn’t seem like the kind of guy who spoke like that.

Castiel shrugged and took one of the last chips they had both been picking at, “I wanted to become a priest.”

Dean paused to register the comment. He had never heard anyone express that particular career move.

“You’re frowning,” Castiel said, keeping his eyes on Dean. 

“Well,” Dean hesitated, making sure he chose the right words. “I guess I never heard anyone ever say they wanted to grow up and be a priest. Honestly, I never put much thought behind it, I thought they kinda just sprung out of the ground looking eighty years old.”

That quip earned Dean his third smile of the day with a bonus, quiet laugh from Castiel. 

“I have to say, that’s probably everyone’s estimation on how priests enter the church,” Castiel said. “But if I wanted it, I had to get extra education.”

The laughter and smiles died down and the kitchen filled with echoes of laughter from the party outside along with the bass of the sound system. 

“So—are you gonna be around here or—?” Dean asked, trying to remember what Catholic churches were around. 

Castiel’s face fell a little and Dean immediately backtracked, hoping he didn’t kill whatever mood their chat had started to create.

“If it’s too personal or anything that’s okay I just—“

“No, it’s alright,” Castiel leaned back in his chair and kept his eyes on the almost empty plate. “It’s—I didn’t—I graduated but I’m not seeking ordination.”

Dean frowned, confused.

“You did all that work and—?” Dean started and immediately quieting himself as Castiel looked over to him with that intense stare that caused Dean to wonder if he crossed the line with this stranger. 

“Things happen,” Castiel said, not elaborating. “But by the time I realized I wanted to leave and major in something else, it was too late.”

“When—?” 

Castiel shrugged and sighed heavily. Dean could tell they were nearing the end of this part of the conversation. “I’m not sure when. It didn’t happen overnight but when you invest this much time and energy into something, it’s not easy to just walk away.”

Dean couldn’t help but ask another question.

“What did you wish you could major in?”

In the past, before Sam left for college and could only talk about his future plans, he had asked Dean what he would do if he had gone to college. The question had hurt Dean at the time and stuck in his brain over the years. He really had no idea. 

Castiel sighed again, exuding a tremendous amount of melancholy. It was a little awkward. Dean knew Castiel for all of an hour and already had deep sympathy for the guy. He knew what it was like to feel that depressed. Not in the way that caused Castiel his low, but Dean could tell the feeling was the same.

“Probably something with education. I always had amazing teachers growing up.”

Dean, wanting a distraction, reached for one of the last chips on the plate, but Castiel went for it at the same causing their hands to bump into each other. They both instantly withdrew and Dean smiled, trying to push away the increasing awkwardness.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry.”

Dean gestured to the plate, _go ahead_ , but Castiel didn’t take anything. Instead, they just kept talking. 

Dean’s side of the conversation was arguably shorter: He lived in Worthington his entire life, he went to school in Worthington, his friends are in Worthington. 

Caution flashed in Dean’s mind as he talked, warning him when he got to a self-identifying part of his life (school, job, family name).

It caught Dean off guard a few times the fact that he didn’t know this person. Talking came a little too easily, steamrolling over his self-imposed rules, with added effort of dodging pot holes in the road that would give away who he was. 

He didn’t know who Castiel was, who he knew, or what town he was from but the last thing he needed was a guest at a Charleston party knowing that a Winchester was embedded in the crowd. 

Eventually, unable to stop it, Dean heard himself toe the line of “too personal”. He generalized his father’s death, and his brother going off to school, not divulging either name.

“Where did he go?”

“Stanford. He was always a smart ass and now he’s paying thousands of dollars to get it written on a piece of paper,” Dean laughed. 

Eventually, to get off the subject of his family, Dean settled on telling stories of monstrous customers down at the auto shop, failing to acknowledge it was the shop at the edge of town.

“I swear, one of these people left their Bently with us and just hung around the entire time,” Dean explained. “I know they just want to sit outside the garage and watch us work to make sure we don’t screw anything up otherwise it’s ‘Lawsuit!’ or something. Anything to get more money.”

Castiel frowned, “Why? Do people not like your—garage?”

“Oh no, nothing like that,” Dean said, a half-truth. “It’s more like—they care more about a car than they do their own life.”

Michael would very much like to get rid of the shop, buy up the land, and put in some kind of wine and cheese store or something, Dean wasn’t sure. But Michael wanted that land on the edge of town, over by where Dean lived and worked, where a lot of them making $40,000 and under lived. 

“I can understand that,” Castiel mused, taking the final chip. “Michael is very protective over his Porsche, which, I always found strange in a small town like this one..”

The mention of Michael made the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck stand up as he realized how much time had passed with him sitting in Michael’s kitchen talking with a stranger. Dean had nearly forgotten about the party, about his search for Cassie, about Benny and Lee and the danger he was in if he got caught—

But a subconscious thought knocked on Dean’s brain, giving him pause. 

“How—how well do you know Michael?” Dean asked, nervousness sparking. “Must be pretty well if he’s throwing you a party.”

Castiel frowned and tilted his head, seemingly confused as to why Dean didn’t know the answer.

“He’s my brother.”

Cas only spoke three words but it took Dean’s brain half a second to catch up to what they meant. In an instant, they shattered whatever environment he had spent the last forty minutes building with this guy. 

“Are you okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.” Cas asked, his voice sounding faint over the ringing starting up in Dean’s ears. 

“Yeah,” Dean choked out before clearing his throat. “You’re his brother? I didn’t know there were four of you.” 

_Get out of there. Get out of there now,_ the voice of instinct shouted in Dean’s head. 

Castiel grimaced and stood up, grabbing the empty plate and walking to the trash can. 

“I’ve rarely been here. I went to boarding school my whole academic career and then off to college for another six,” Cas explained. “I would come back for some holidays but never toured the town to say hello and tried to avoid the parties. I think you can tell I don’t like them very much.

Cas paused by the kitchen island, staring at the floor with a strange look of sadness, almost regret on his face.

“They didn’t talk about me much here, I guess.”

Somewhere in the swelling panic, Dean felt a pang of sympathy.

“Well maybe they did,” Dean answered, trying to keep his voice steady and figure out a way out of there without looking rude.”

“I was the youngest, they just—”

Castiel stopped talking and they both looked over to the long entryway as loud laughter got closer. Heart in his throat, Dean stood up, glancing to the stairs that no doubt would take him inside the house. He physically controlled himself to not go for them. Whoever was oming down the entryway hallway would see him going up there, and it if was Michael, then—

“Castiel are you in here?” Michael’s voice floated into the room as he closed in on the kitchen. Dean froze as Castiel walked over.

He stopped in front of where Michael would eventually come out, and Dean held his breath that Michael wouldn’t continue into the room and leave after whatever conversation had to happen.

“What’s going on?” Castiel asked, his tone less animated than earlier. 

“Everyone’s asking for you—a lot of them are here FOR you.” Michael explained, whatever laughter that followed him in left at the doorway, going back to that authoritative tone that Dean heard just the other night.

“They’re here for the food and fireworks.”

“Castiel—“

“I’m fine in here, I’ll go out shortly. I’m in the middle of a conversation.”

 _No no no no no_ , Dean’s brain screamed at Castiel, _turn him around, turn him around!_

But instead, Castiel gestured over to the table Dean now stood next to. When he saw Dean’s face, he frowned, confused.

As Dean heard Michael take the final steps to walk into the kitchen, the sound mixed with the ones in Dean’s mind of jail bars closing in front of him.

Michael only took two steps into the room before he stopped cold, staring at Dean, his reflexes slowed by several glasses of wine.

“What in the hell are you doing here?”

Dean said nothing, and Castiel looked at Michael, uncomfortable. 

“I said, what in the _hell_ are you doing here?” Michael barked, moving toward the table in a rush. Castiel shot an arm out and held Michael and Dean moved only a few inches, ready to spring into action to try and run out unscathed.

“Was just looking for my girlfriend,” Dean explained but leaving out all the details, keeping his nerves on high alert so he could spring into action if need. 

_You shouldn’t have stayed you fucking idiot_.

Michael’s eyes narrowed, and Dean stole a glance at Castiel. Any sense of friendliness was gone, but Castiel didn’t look at Dean at all, instead glaring at the back of Michael who moved close to Dean. 

“So you took it upon yourself to break into my house—”

Dean held his hands up in surrender, hoping his expression came off as unthreatening. He hated acting like this, but he willingly walked into it. He had no one to really blame but himself. 

“Honest to God, I just was just concerned, she hadn’t answered my phone calls,” Dean explained, stretching the truth slightly. “I thought she was in here.”

He kept his eyes off of Castiel, trying to keep his focus.

For a moment, Dean thought Michael would reach behind him to the butcher’s block and throw something at him with how red his face got.

But much like the country club, Michael knew to not get his hands dirty. If they had been alone in that room, maybe something would happen and Michael could claim self-defense. But there was a witness who, just judging by his expression, would not stand by his brother.

“Get out of here,” Michael practically snarled, his jaw clenched to a degree that Dean worried the man may crack a tooth. “Get the hell out of here, get your friends out of here, and don’t come within three blocks of my house otherwise—”

Dean didn’t need telling twice this time. He moved immediately, easing past Castiel who cup close looked even more pissed off than Dean realized. 

Once outside, Dean didn’t look back, didn’t go into the party to find Benny, and instead went straight to the truck, trying to call Benny to say it was time to go. After five tries, and as Dean got to the truck, Benny finally picked up. 

They drove home in silence with Dean trying to ease the adrenaline back down, as his mind kept replaying the scene over in his head, and eventually sticking on Castiel’s expression throughout the entire exchange. It wasn’t just frustration. It had looked like complete and utter contempt. 

The more Dean thought about it, the more Dean wondered just how far removed Castiel really was from the Charleston family.


	3. Three

They ran into each other a week later. 

Literally ran into each other. 

Dean, unable to stop himself from doing so, stood on the back of his shopping car at the grocery store, racing down the empty aisle ahead of him.

It was childish, Sam always told him that, but damn was it fun. 

As Dean neared the end of the pasta aisle, he saw, almost in slow motion, another cart turn the corner. He threw his left leg back down and tried to stop the cart in time but it still collided with the other one, knocking it hard enough to force it to face in the other direction. 

Nothing tipped over, but Dean cringed and braced for the person pushing it to start yelling.

Instead, when he turned the corner to see who he just crashed into, he saw Castiel standing there, one hand still on the cart handle and squeezing a shopping list in the other. He didn’t look shocked or surprised but more like he had to take a moment to process what just happened.

The store was always dead on a Thursday afternoon, and Dean was done with work at two, so it was always an ideal time to sail down the aisles, trying to save as much as he could on food. 

But today, he was shopping for his we-all-finally-have-a-weekend-off cook-out extravaganza as well as annoying Benny with a birthday party. It had put Dean in a good mood following the disaster the previous Saturday. He hadn’t had all his friends gathered in one spot in a few months and it was a perfect way to chill out and not think about things for a while.

“Hey,” Dean said, backing his cart up and pushing it straight forwards so he was parallel with Castiel, “Sorry about that, man. Usually, I’m the only one in here during the day.”

“It’s okay. I imagine it was fun.” 

Dean watched carefully to see if he really did piss the dude off, but Castiel didn’t look bothered whatsoever. Dean would argue Castiel actually looked devoid of any kind of emotions at all. The bright spark in his eyes when they talked last weekend had disappeared.

The look troubled Dean as much as it did when he left last Saturday, wondering if he had caused more problems for Castiel by him being there. Normally, Dean wouldn’t have been embarrassed or ashamed that he was kicked out of a place where he wasn’t supposed to be. His usual plan of action was to lift his chin and laugh his way out. If embarrassment and shame came afterward, he kept it to himself and ignored it until it dissolved completely. 

But Dean had felt horrible after he gatecrashed the party. Shame and embarrassment came back with a vengeance that time and hadn’t truly left Dean, showing their face again as Dean stood next to Castiel in the store. 

Dean had wondered if, after that night, Castiel now hated him on principle due to lines already drawn in the sand. If Castiel was gone from Worthington for as much as he said, then it was very likely no one had ever told him about their history or if they did, not very well.

At the end of the day, the fact remained that he was able to sit down and have a decent conversation with a Charleston. They didn’t know each other’s actual identity at the time, but it was still the only bright spot out of that day. 

Dean mused on the expression on Castiel’s face as Michael pushed him out, remembering it wasn’t aimed at him once he learned who Dean was—it was for Michael, his own family.

There in the store, curiosity took hold of Dean.

“I’m sorry about the—the party. Thing. You know—,” Dean said, awkward and frowning. He was really bad at apologizing, “I didn’t mean to disrupt your homecoming day.”

They both turned and continued down another aisle full of cereal and pancake mix.

“It’s alright,” Cas said. “Michael shouldn’t have done that.”

“Well—that _was_ my fault. I shouldn’t have been there. I assume you know about the—thing.”

Castiel nodded and pursed his lips, “Yeah, I got the small history lesson that night and it doesn’t make much sense to me. Michael couldn’t really give me an accurate explanation and it all seemed too complicated.”

Dean smiled and leaned down over his cart, resting his elbows on the handle and grasping the metal sides.

“I won’t disagree with you on that one.” Dean never understood where things went too wrong between them all and didn’t care to find out but as he got older, he saw how the Charlestons especially treated his father. That’s when he paid attention.

“What about you?” Castiel asked, stopping to plop a box of Raisin Bran in his cart like an 80-year-old.

“What about me?”

“You lived here longer than I have. What’s your family’s story?” Castiel asked, sounding genuinely curious.

Castiel tossed the heavy can of worms into Dean’s lap, but Dean knew better. 

“Oh yeah, yeah—I got the story when I was a kid but didn’t remember it well,” Dean said, keeping his eyes on his cart, “You know, all the ‘they can’t be trusted, they’re backstabbers’ sort of shit. I didn’t pay attention that much growing up.” 

“But you don’t like us now,” Castiel said not as a question but as a statement. 

Dean paused for a moment, rolling thoughts around in his head, deciding what to release and what to not. Ideally, he would steer the conversation away from the topic altogether but his words came out of his mouth before he could make a decision. 

“Yeah—I mean I liked Gabriel though he picked on my brother a lot–I don’t think it was because of all this,” Dean explained. “Lucas seemed…”

Dean trailed off, trying to find adjectives that wouldn’t offend. 

“It’s okay, I get it,” Castiel said.

Dean sighed and continued, “And Michael—he and I have had our moments.”

“He told me you broke into South Hill the other day,” Castiel said, looking over. Dean didn’t expect to see mild amusement on his face.

Dean smirked, “Yeah well—I don’t know if you’ve seen the inside of that thing but it needed some interior decoration.”

“I have and that fireplace is sad to look at.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Dean lightly tapped Castiel on the shoulder, “You get it. Thank you.”

Castiel smiled as he grabbed a small carton of milk. Dean reached over and grabbed one too though he didn’t need it, just to do something during the awkward moment of silence that started to creep into their conversation.

They walked quietly to the back of the store where the butcher’s counter was, and Dean’s curiosity pushed him even further over the line.

“So, you don’t hate me?” Dean asked, keeping his voice light and casual despite the juvenile question. It came out of his mouth before his brain told his mouth to keep shut. 

Dean didn’t know if it was because Castiel was a Charleston who didn’t seem, at least on the surface, like the others, or the fact that he was Charleston who was Dean’s age and seemed to be easy to talk to and sounded like he had a pretty rich history, more interesting than Dean’s or any of his friends’. Along with stories of his family that Dean would love to file away as blackmail. 

Whatever the reason, Dean wanted Castiel to like him.

“I’m not sure what gave you any idea that I do,” Castiel said, frowning as he looked over to Dean. “Do you hate me?” 

Dean stopped his cart to look at Castiel, so the man knew he was telling the truth.

“No, man. No, you’re cool,”

Then Dean’s curiosity offered up a question. 

“Hey, question for you,” Dean started, unsure how to ask without sounding like a crazy man who invited any stranger he met in a grocery store over for a party. “I’m having a cookout this Saturday. Won’t be as big as your party, but a few people will be there, and the food, in my opinion, will be much better.” Dean paused. “You’re more than welcome to come.” 

Castiel stopped walking, and Dean didn’t notice at first. He looked back over his shoulder and saw Castiel standing by one of the market fridges, taken aback. 

“You good?” he asked, amused. Dean never had that kind of reaction when he invited people over before. 

Castiel nodded while inhaling deep and walking back over.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Yes as in yes you’re good or yes as in —”

“Yes, I would like to attend, and thank you for offering the invitation,” Castiel clarified as they rounded the last aisle along the wall. “I have to make sure nothing is happening that night on my end, but if I can’t—”

Castiel reached behind him and pulled out his phone, “We should probably exchange numbers just in case.”

Dean’s confidence fell a little when he heard Castiel say something Dean usually used as an excuse so he could get out of things without saying “no” to someone’s face. 

But when Castiel took out his phone and gave it to Dean, he rebounded.

And Dean couldn’t pinpoint why the fuck he cared so much. 

They exchanged numbers and handed their phones back to each other. Dean grabbed a Stouffers from the open freezer next to them and they continued their walk. Dean processed what just happened, what he just did in inviting a Charleston to his property, willingly, completely sober and conscious—

—and found himself excited more than anything.

“Do I bring anything?” Castiel asked, looking at ice cream at the end of the frozen food aisle, automatically grabbing a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. 

“Nah. I mean if you wanna bring soda you like or some chips. I’m the meat man,” Dean said with a smile but inwardly cringed at the words once they were out there. Jesus Christ.

They continued down the aisles together all the way to the check out line, chatting about town things especially given Castiel was never around. For Dean, it felt like a whole new world opened up to him. A friendly Charleston, a Charleston that didn’t despise him, a Charleston that wasn’t out to ruin his life. Dean’s world flipped with this one person but it was exciting to see something that changed things up. 

Outside, they parted ways and Dean paused to watch Castiel pack up a black, older model Range Rover.

It hit him suddenly that Castiel went shopping all while the Charleston home had people who did that for them. 

“You did what?”

“Are you fucking serious?”

The news of Castiel’s invitation to Saturday's cookout didn’t go over well with Benny and Lee.

He told them what happened at the store as they put the groceries away with some reluctance. It would seem like an about-face from what Dean usually says about Charlestons, so he could understand the reaction. 

“Guys, come on—he’s not that bad. If I’m saying that, then you know he’s tolerable.”

“I don’t know,” Lee said, handing Dean spices needed for a marinade. “He looked weird at that party. Who dresses up for their own party looking like you’re heading to the office?” 

Dean smiled to himself when he thought about it, turning away from the rest of the room. In the grocery store, Castiel wasn’t as formal in dress, but still had a light, short-sleeved white button-down on and chinos. It was a summer look, but far from something that looked easy-breezy, and more like someone who definitely laid their clothes out the night before. 

Yeah, he was weird. 

“Yeah, he’s weird… like a weird, dorky little guy except he’s not little—but you get my point,” Dean explained. “He’s the only Charleston that’s tolerable and like, this guy said he’s been in boarding school practically his whole life, and then was studying to be—studying really hard for a major he didn’t care that much about. I don’t think he had much of a social life.”

Dean decided to omit the priest information. They’d only use that as a weapon. 

“And now we’re the ones responsible for that?” Benny asked, stabbing a fork into the ground beef.

Dean shrugged, “Why not? Plus, think about how pissed off Michael would be if he found out we’re hanging out. He’d probably have a stroke.”

“Don’t wish ill on someone like that,” Lee mumbled, taking a pack of beer out of the final paper bag and folding it up. 

Dean rolled his eyes and turned back to the cutting board with several steaks in front of him, “That’s not why I invited him. I just figured, you know, the guy should be able to let loose and actually have a party. Not some place where there’s cardboard food and watered-down booze and absolutely no fun.”

Benny and Lee stared at Dean like he just spewed a bunch of crazy, but Dean wouldn’t back down. 

“It pays to have friends in high places, guys.”

That sealed the deal and Lee and Benny eventually shut up, though Dean knew they still had a slew of arguments waiting to go. With the way they were used to Dean talking about the Charlestons, witnessing Dean’s family interact with the Charlestons, he imagined they were keeping his best interests at heart. 

Dean hoped to whatever universal power there was out there that Castiel would show up. 

While out front retrieving bags of ice for the cooler, a familiar black range rover turned slowly into the driveway. Tires crunched over the gravel as the music out back continued its pace, and Dean looked up to see Castiel trying to park the thing off to the side so as not to block any potential way out.

“You’re good!” Dean shouted over the music. 

Castiel nodded and put his car in park, killing the engine. Dean looked back over his shoulder but saw no one at the back gate watching and put the ice down to walk over. 

As Castiel opened the door, excitement rose in Dean, astonished the guy actually showed. He never texted Dean in the two days between them meeting in the store, and Dean assumed Castiel wouldn’t be coming.

As Castiel took out a bag of what looked like some soda and other snacks, a sense of absurdity washed over Dean as he realized in the last two weeks, Castiel’s brother threatened to throw him behind bars, twice.

“I see you brought presents,” Dean said, meeting Castiel halfway and taking two sodas from him.

“Food, yes. Not sure it’s quality enough to be called a ‘present’,” Castiel said, showing Dean the inside of the bag which contained a variety of chips and salsa.

“Looks good enough for me,” Dean shrugged and turned, nodding his head to the gate. “We’re over here.”

They lapsed into a silence similar to the grocery store as they walked. Nerves started to rise in Dean as it hit him that a Charleston would be on his property, at his home for the first time ever and it was decidedly much, much smaller and gritty than the life Castiel would be accustomed to. The man didn’t seem like the one who slammed the judgment hammer down, but still—

“Glad you could make it,” Dean said, trying to keep his voice even. “I know maybe this isn’t really your scene, but—“

“Thank you for the invitation. It’s good to try new things, and I do like cookouts.” 

It didn’t even occur to Dean that Castiel could have ever come across a real backyard cookout in his life. 

“Really?” Dean asked, squinting his eyes in suspicion. “Was it a _real_ cookout or—”

“How would I know if it was real or not?”

Dean smirked.

“Well you’re about to find out.”

As they approached the gate to the backyard, Dean suddenly stopped, causing Castiel to almost crash into him.

“Just thought of this,” Dean said as he glanced over the fence gate, “You probably shouldn’t tell people your last name. And actually, while we’re at it, let’s just call you Cas. Short, sweet and to the point.”

Castiel…Cas… shifted onto one foot, frowning, “Would I be unwelcome here?”

Sighing, Dean shook his head.

“No, you’d be fine, but it’ll just jumpstart stories about your family and ‘back in the day’—you don’t even know those stories since you weren’t here. Just—trust me, it’ll save you a lot of grief.”

Cas hesitated but nodded in agreement, discomfort reading all over his face. A pang of guilt struck through Dean as he unlatched the gate. He hoped he didn’t just make Cas uncomfortable for the rest of his time there. 

Dean really did want him to have a good time.


	4. Four

Cas didn’t want to come back to Worthington.

His return came on the back of a failure, even with a Masters in his pocket. As soon as he arrived home Cas knew he’d be met with questions of “what’s next” and Michael trying to plan out the rest of his life, now that his future was void of a goal.

Cas couldn’t answer the question over the phone fast enough for Michael when he announced he was coming home, so Michael would say that Cas should be looking youth Christian camps or becoming a church director or whatever—whatever. 

He was already sick of it.

Part of Cas always wondered why fulfilling the family’s duty to uphold their Catholic heritage relied on him when most of their family, as they grew older, stopped caring about the church. Michael was able to go to school and become a priest as well, but he decided he wanted to go into banking then the family business of real estate development. No one gave him grief for that. Gabriel was…Gabriel and couldn’t be told to do anything, and eventually, people stopped trying. Lucas disappeared without a trace after falling flat on his face in public while running for Mayor five years prior. 

But they were known as a good, hard-working Catholic family with Catholic values of honesty and integrity. That image shattered with each and every sibling dealing their own blow. 

Once upon a time, Cas did envision himself as a priest. Those daydreams happened when he had spaced out during mass, listening to the older priest at St. Paul’s drone on and on and on and imagining himself doing a better job. Father Joshua Laurence at the same church, younger then, encouraged Cas’s pursuits honestly. 

The rest of his family, Cas came to understand over the course of his education, with the lack of visits or phone calls or letters, just didn’t want him around. Him entering the church as a priest meant they didn’t have to give him a second thought anymore if they did already. It gave them bragging rights, however, about the goodness of their family. Get Cas out of the way, tucked away in a faraway church, and use his reputation to gain more business deals.

Cas tried not to focus on that as he focused on his goal. He went to mass every Sunday, studied his books, prayed every night, had a notebook full of his favorite passages from the Bible, and ultimately decided that it was a good thing to be nowhere near the rest of his family. They had no faith in anything but themselves and their money.

But something happened as Cas grew older that placed a large, unscalable brick wall right in the middle of his path. The future he had been taking steady steps to had suddenly cut off with no other avenues for Cas to take.

He was so close to graduating at that point so Cas finished his masters just to say he did. It didn’t produce any joy or feeling of satisfaction like his classmates and some nights, as he sat alone in his apartment packing up, it felt like he was holding an unbearable weight of lies in his hands.

The first thing he did when he came home, two days before the party, was tell Michael that he wasn’t interested in becoming a priest anymore.

Michael didn’t lash out, not then, and actually sat and listened. Cas didn’t divulge the full truth that caused him to change his mind, and just to placate Michael’s anger, said he would still look for jobs in the church. But it was a lie.

Cas didn’t want anything to do with anything church-related anymore. 

His brain was a mess, and it wasn’t helped by Michael, who came to him the following day with a proposition.

He sat Cas down on the other side of the dining room table, together but apart, and sat straight up, like someone stuck a pole in his back. The look in his eyes already told Cas that it wasn’t going to be good news and that he wouldn’t be able to say no.

“I know you’ve only been home for a short amount of time, but there’s something I need you to do at your party tomorrow,” Michael had said.

Frowning, Cas had started to pick at the staple embedded in the underside of the table while keeping his eyes on Michael, “What?”

Michael had the decency to pause, looking away for half a moment in what Cas would later see as a fake act of contrition. 

“I need you to meet a girl.”

Every swirling thought and scenario in Cas’s head suddenly stopped.

“I’m sorry—what?”

Sighing, Michael took a drink of water and cleared his throat. 

“There was a family that moved here several years ago while you were just graduating high school. I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a Shakesperian drama—”

“I believe in you,” Cas had prompted, dry and toneless. 

Michael shot him a glare before continuing, “They’re the Grays. Zachariah, Nancy, and their niece... Hannah.”

Cas almost shot to his feet once Michael said the names. He knew where this was going. Michael and Lucas had laughed about it before, when another family came to town, looking to try and overtake the local real estate and business environment. “ _They have a daughter who’s Cas’s age”; “If they got married then there’d be nothing to worry about_ ”. It was over drinks when Cas stopped home for Christmas at 16 years old. He never forgot about that conversation and it too had played a factor in him deciding that yes, he’d go and become a priest. It wasn’t the only reason, but it nestled itself in with all the other ones about faith and devotion. Priests don’t get married, don’t have to date, don’t have to be pawns in their family’s game of—

“How old is Hannah?” Cas asked, trying to keep his expression even.

“Twenty-three.”

“Pretty?”

“Very much so.”

“I’m assuming that during this party I’m supposed to introduce myself and try to win her favor like we are actually living in this Shakesperian drama like you said, and somehow end up in one of those new homes in Stony Gates with three children and a dog?”

Michael sniffed and shifted in his chair, picking up his glass again, “The dog is optional.”

Cas rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. An unusual feeling of pure anger had started to bubble up.

“Why?” Cas asked. He knew why; it was going to be a repeat of that Christmas all those years ago, but he wanted to hear Michael say it to his face this time.

Pausing, Michael glanced out the window to the front yard, the grass turning slightly brown with the relentless summer sun.

“Our family founded this town, Cas, you know that. We’ve been here since the beginning. This is _our_ town,” Michael emphasized, still not looking at Cas. “Despite missteps, we have the public’s trust and have remained steadfast at preserving that. The town took care of us, and we took care of them,” Michael paused again. “The Grays came out of nowhere and now they’re eyeing land that we are entitled to. Zachariah said he was interested in building a strip mall on the south side of town, but that’s where _I_ have proposed to build. I’ll get it, the town would prefer me, but then he’s going to go do something else. I honestly believe he’s just trying to run us out of town.“

Michael paused again, frowning. “If you and she were to merge our families, then any blow they did to us would also be to them, and—”

Waving his hand, Cas shifted in his chair, “Enough. I’m done with this.”

“Cas—“

“No,” Cas had nearly shouted as adrenaline caused him to shoot up from his chair, almost knocking it over. “I’m done with this conversation.”

Without allowing Michael to get another word in, Cas headed up to his bedroom and slammed the door behind him. 

He was going to do it, of course. 

No other choice was available. 

The useless master’s degree hung on the wall next to his desk, staring at Cas as he sat, staring out the window. His view took him across the outskirts of town, over fields and a few trees. The desk, and the room in general, had rarely been used over the course of his life. 

As Cas watched towering white clouds roll on by, he mused about his choice to not pursue priesthood. It was a decision that had a long ramp up, but that had ultimately been decided one cold night in his dorm after praying for what felt like eight hours straight.

Maybe he made that decision too fast.

Arranged marriages were antiquated and horrific in Cas’s mind, and found it not only unfair to him but also this poor girl who may have had aspirations of her own. He didn’t know how Zachariah was but if he was a fraction of what Michael exuded in terms of authority, then she wouldn’t have a choice either.

It had occurred to Cas, sitting at his desk and toying with a pencil, that Michael was very prepared with this plan and indeed most likely called up on his previous conversation with Lucas, wondering if he could actually make a business transaction marriage work.

Cas sighed and stayed in his room for the rest of the afternoon, question after question tumbling through his head on release. 

Could he pull off marriage to a woman he’d meet for the first time on Saturday? Could he pull off marriage at all? 

When Saturday’s party arrived, Cas hid as much as he could. People introduced themselves with smiles of pearly white teeth and leathery, overly tanned skin, and he had his fill of repeating the same story again and again. 

Some people were mistaken, thinking he had gone off on missionary work. He’d have to kindly explain to them every time that he was not an evangelist and had only been in Illinois the whole time. It happened three or four times, leading Cas to wonder what Michael was actually telling these people.

About an hour into the party, a stranger tapped on Cas’s shoulders.

“Your brother’s looking for you, just wanted to let you know.” 

Cas nodded, not knowing who the person was but giving them a wan smile, “Thank you, I’ll go find him.”

He didn’t make an effort finding Michael at all, and instead took up shelter inside the back garden kitchen, usually used for parties like this but Michael had decided to get catering this time around. 

All other times it was used as a snack closet, and it was closest to Gabriel’s room which meant it was almost constantly stocked up. The kitchen itself was small with slate tiles and a skylight that kept things well lit but also cool in the summer heat. Cas always liked it there. 

He hoped he could have some time to himself before Michael hunted him down. 

Also to hopefully find something edible because he hated the food out at the party, and Michael conveniently forgot Cas was allergic to shellfish.

Stomach whining for something, Cas opened the walk-in pantry and was happy to still see all the stupid junk food that Gabriel stashed like a chipmunk whenever he came home. Cas usually didn’t like all the high sugar and salt but needed _something_. He knew Gabriel had stopped by about a week before Cas traveled home and crossed his fingers there was more than just chips in the closet. Sure enough, after some digging, Cas found bread, peanut butter, and an unopened jar of jelly, all still within their expiration date. 

It was a 5-year-old’s sandwich, but Cas couldn’t care less at that point. Might as well get the last bit of fun in now before he’d be shoved into another world he had no business being in. 

Before he could turn around and leave, he heard footsteps, followed by: “I’m guessing you didn’t like the crab cakes if you have to steal their Doritos.”

The voice caused Cas to jump, dropping the bag of chips. He reached down and snatched it, mumbling a curse word to himself. 

Confused, he backed out of the pantry, arms full of food, and came face to face with a mildly surprised man he had never seen before in his family’s circles. 

Everything after blurred together into a pleasant moment of the otherwise mundane afternoon. When Michael eventually found him and shattered whatever good mood Cas had been in for a long while, anger once again flared in Cas. But he kept his mouth shut. 

Michael had scolded him after the bodyguards confirmed Dean was off the property, then dragged him back outside to meet Hannah.

The sudden transition from calm and content to jumpy and on edge threw Cas off balance as he was told by Michael to take her for a walk. 

Cas decided to take her down the back of the property, away from the crowd, and over to the pond with a grove of trees nearby.

Hannah remained quiet most of the time they walked but Cas didn’t care. Mentally, he still sat at that kitchen table with Dean and continued to talk about things that helped distract Cas from his world for a little while

For Cas, it wasn’t the topic of conversation that hooked him, but just how Dean spoke. It was carefree, animated, and the stories he had of horrible customers and of the town’s residents were fun to listen to, given Cas had never stayed in Worthington for longer than a week since he was five years old.

Dean was unarguably the only interesting person at that party that day, and it was hard for Cas not to keep his mind on him while escorting Hannah down to the pond.

“—what do you think?” 

Cas blinked a few times to come back to the present and looked over at Hannah.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”

She smiled, a nice one, a kind one, and looked ahead on the path, “I said there’s a performance of Grease happening at The Oakwood in a week and I was wondering if you wanted to come with me?”

Cas knew of old customs told by his brothers and father dictated that the man was supposed to make the plans, pay for dinner, propose—

But Cas figured if Hannah wanted to steer the boat, it was all hers. She probably had more dating experience than he did. 

“Sure, that sounds great,” Cas replied, trying to feign some kind of enthusiasm. He didn’t care much for musicals, particularly Grease. He had watched it once in prep school because the other boys liked the scene where the girls are in their nightclothes, but he hated the overall message of the story.

Change who you are to get someone to like you. 

Hannah wanted to see it though, so Cas would stomach the local, amateur performance if it was another wrung in the ladder to get to where Michael wanted him to go. 

The rest of the afternoon, he and Hannah walked around the pond a few times getting to know each other. She was kind, had a degree in business, and wanted to live somewhere in Southern California because she “hated the snow”. 

The worst thing about the whole situation they found themselves in was that Hannah was nice. There wasn’t anything wrong with her whatsoever, and so Cas couldn’t even latch onto anything he disliked to justify his abject reluctance to be anywhere near her.

The musical had been fine, not memorable, but fine. There, Cas felt that it was his turn to ask her if she wanted to go out to dinner that same night, following the show. She agreed.

During that date, they agreed on a third date that Saturday to rent boats on the nearby lake and cruise around for the afternoon. Cas still let Hannah lead him to wherever she wanted to go, having no clue himself.

And it was on that Thursday before the date that Dean crashed into Cas at the local store.

Cas would be lying to himself if he said he was going out into town to just do errands.

Over the last several days, it became painfully clear that speaking with Hannah would be a difficult thing to do. It wasn’t that she had an annoying voice or speech pattern, but just had no stories or no interesting facts about her that Cas could enjoy listening to. Her life sounded devoid of any color, just like his own. 

So Cas on Monday, before their first date, decided to run to the post office. Tuesday, he took a trip to the dry cleaners and dropped off some of his clothes that weren’t actually dirty. Wednesday he ordered take out from the bar. Thursday, he decided to go grocery shopping.

Cas didn’t hide from himself the reason why he had been going out and driving around. 

He prayed he would bump into Dean again. Cas remained unashamedly addicted to that kitchen conversation, kind of like an oasis in a desert. He wanted more.

Cas waffled on Dean’s invitation not only because he’d once again be surrounded by strangers, this time not knowing if the crowd would like him or not—

But also the guilt that came with canceling his date with Hannah who said she bought a new bathing suit for the lake.

Come Friday night, Michael made that decision for him.

“Jack saw you at the store yesterday,” Michael had said, looking over some work on the dining room table and his laptop open.

Cas had just wandered by, trying to craft a text message to Hannah that would sound like he was too sick to go, but wasn’t horrifically sick to where she should come over and make him soup or something. 

He stopped by the entry to the dining room, confused, “Okay—was there an issue?” 

As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew exactly what the issue was, but Cas couldn’t respond faster than Michael.

“What were you doing talking to Dean?” 

“We just bumped into each other—he said hello and it would have been rude to ignore him.”

Michael rolled his eyes and slammed his laptop shut, “I get that you don’t understand how things work around here, but I told you that we stay away from him, and his friends, and his brother if he ever decides to show his face again—“

The anger that had been simmering since the weekend finally reached its boiling point.

“I don’t know who those people are—and I didn’t even know who Dean was until you told me, so I don’t see how I was faulted for that first conversation,” Cas said, keeping his voice just below a shout. “And second, I was taught growing up that if someone says hello, you stop and say hello back.”

He wanted to say more, but restrained himself, keeping those thoughts inside for a more proper time.

“Not to them you don’t,” Michael ordered, standing up and bracing himself against the table with his hands. “They are everything wrong with this town and I am this close to getting the last of them out.”

“What is that supposed to mean? Are you intentionally trying to get Dean thrown out of Worthington?”

Michael shook his head and looked like he was about to say something, but instead chose to keep his mouth shut. The truth wouldn’t come out during this conversation, and Cas sighed. 

“At the end of the day, I am an adult, and I can talk to whoever I want to,” Cas threatened. 

Michael pointed a finger, narrowing his eyes, “I will lock you in here and only let you out to meet Hannah if I have to. Stay away from him. Their whole family is trouble.”

Before Michael could get another word in, Cas turned his back on the dining room and went back upstairs. Fuming, he hit send on the text message to Hannah as he slammed his door.

Canceling the date felt like a small way to tell Michael that Cas still had some amount of free will left.

Cas, nerves building all Saturday morning, relaxed as he pulled into the driveway and saw Dean pulling bags of ice out of his trunk. The house on the south side of town, like all others around him, was small in stature with one story, with some shingles out of place, and not a whole lot of square footage. 

The parts of the front yard that remained exposed to the sun had turned brown due to the drought, and the hedges needed a desperate trimming. A high wooden fence blocked the view into the backyard, but Cas could feel the bass of the music through his own vehicle. 

It looked more like home than his own home. 

One of the things that he was taught constantly by kind teachers was that money wasn’t everything. It was a funny kind of lesson to teach a group of boys who came from wealthy families, but Cas took it to heart. 

When he wanted to join the priesthood, he knew he would be vowing to live a life of poverty and wouldn’t have the big fancy things that lived inside the mausoleum that was his childhood home. 

In looking at Dean’s home, Cas didn’t think Dean was poor. Real estate meant nothing if there was no life in the house, something Cas learned growing up. Despite its appearances, the line of cars in the driveway and the laughter and music coming from the backyard told Cas that the property and the person who called it home was well-loved by many.

Cas had only run into this man twice and he already had developed a sense of ease. For the first time in a week, Cas didn’t feel like yelling and his hands weren’t shaking anymore.

He didn’t know if that sense of east made him naive or desperate.

Maybe both. 

As he and Dean unpacked the SUV and walked toward the gate, Cas received his warning of making sure his name was casual. No Charleston, no indicator of a person who had named all their children from their obsession with religion—just three letters, one syllable, and leave it at that. Just leave it at ‘Cas.’

A brief flash of regret hit Cas, asking him what he thought he was doing stepping on the property of someone Michael has ten kinds of aneurysms about—

But as the gate unlatched and they both walked onto the little stone path to the backyard, everyone in their little groups waved and smiled in greeting. 

Never had Cas been greeted that fondly by anyone, be it his own family or a stranger, and while surreal, Cas soaked in as much as he could. 

There were maybe thirty people back there, all with some kind of alcoholic drink in their hands or nursing a red Solo cup. The music echoed throughout the yard as a loud, guitar-riff-ridden song from a couple of decades ago. None of the lawn furniture matched, and there was an above-ground pool that several people were hanging onto the side of, talking to others standing on the grass. The grill nearby had already been lighted and the food was ready to go.

Compared to his normal day to day experiences, the difference was night and day.

Dean went around and introduced Cas to a few people, but thankfully not everyone. Cas didn’t think he had that kind of energy. 

He followed Dean, shook some hands, and smiled back at people, remembering to omit his last night. They smiled back with warmth and welcome and it actually caused Cas some sadness to think that he had never experienced this level of kindness or hospitality in his life.

Snacks and drinks deposited onto the table, Dean led the way over to the pool where the two guys resting on the side looked up from talking with two women. 

“Literally every time I come over here you’re doing this, get off the edge,” Dean admonished the two in the water, but his tone suggested he didn’t care much. 

“Make me,” the man on the left smirked.

Dean rolled his eyes and then clapped a hand on Cas’s shoulder, startling him. 

“Cas, this is Benny, Lee, Charlie, and Stevie—the only people here that truly matter,” he said and winked. They all said hello, held up a hand, and Cas reciprocated. 

_You’ll be fine_ , Cas told himself as he accepted his first drink of the afternoon.


	5. Five

For all of Dean’s anxiety-driven nerves, the day went flawlessly.

When he had first met Cas, he felt like the kind of person who’d prefer to stay in their shell. But, Dean watched as Cas thrived once he was thrown into conversations with Benny and Lee. He still had a habit of talking a little strangely, a little too formal for backcountry Kansas, but no one pointed it out.

Charlie, Stevie, and Lee took to him faster than Benny, who just sat on the sidelines while they all made conversation. Most everyone else at the party were friends of friends or customers that he usually played cards with or had a drink with and unless Cas wanted to, Dean decided not to haul him around to introduce everyone. Cas didn’t seem to mind. 

It was easy for Dean throughout the course of the day to forget where Cas came from. The only reminder came when Lee gave Cas a side-eye when Cas wasn’t looking. Cas had even left the chinos at home and opted for some Bermuda shorts and a light blue button-down. Still more formal than the rest of the attendees, but not out of place.

Dean had to eventually excuse himself from Lee’s story about crashing into the mayor of a neighboring city, a story he’d heard thousands of times, in order to start the food. 

As Dean laid down the assortment of burgers, steaks, and dogs, he caught himself watching the group through the rippling heave waves from the grill.

Not the whole group, just Cas specifically. 

He tried not to, but every time Dean looked up from the grill, Cas was in his line of sight.

The fourth or fifth time it happened Cas caught him. 

Dean’s heart jumped to his throat and he quickly looked back down, flipping a burger unnecessarily to distract himself. 

Too late—out of Dean’s peripheral vision, he saw Cas approaching.

Swallowing hard, Dean reached for the homemade sauce and drizzled it on to make himself look busy. The last thing he needed was for this guy to think Dean was some creepy dude who only invited him to a cookout to—

_To what exactly._

Dean almost dropped the bottle as Cas stood next to him.

He hadn’t had _that_ thought in a while. 

“Need any help?” Cas asked, voice brighter than Dean had expected. He wasn't sure if it was from the booze or the atmosphere but regardless it was a nice sound to hear.

Dean glanced over at Cas and almost wished he hadn’t.

Standing out in the sun for so long didn’t burn Cas’s face but did leave a little red on the high parts of his cheeks and nose. His eyes were bright with the sunlight and he had an easy, casual smile that suited him much better than the pensive frown that had seemed to be Cas’s default. Dean couldn’t help but to return it. 

_Oh no._

“Uh… yeah, can you get the buns ready on some plates?” Dean asked, clearing his throat and looking back down at the grill. He didn’t really need help with that, but Dean suddenly, and selfishly, wanted Cas to stay there instead of going back to the group. 

_What the fuck._

Cas put down his cup and did what he was told, the two of them working in silence as the grill sizzled and people laughed and talked around them. Their silence didn’t usher in any awkwardness this time. It was comfortable. 

Dean tried to bring his mind back to reality, to remember who he was standing next to. He had only met this guy three times now and he was a part of—

 _Chill out._ The voice inside Dean’s head was mouthy that day. _Who cares?_

Dean glanced at Cas who almost neared the end of his task. Family preference didn’t seem to bother Cas at all, at least on the outside. Cas stood there with no disgusted look, shoulders and stance relaxed, and no fake smiles.

 _It’s still no, so stop thinking about it._ There seemed to be two voices dueling that day inside Dean’s head Dean tried his hardest to keep the more suggestive one silenced. Not now, not with this guy.

They didn’t speak for the duration of preparing the food, and Dean hoped and begged with everything he had that the heat building in his face was from the coals and not due to the warring narratives inside his head.

“How long do you plan on staying in Worthington?” Dean asked as he and Cas sat by the bonfire, the sun finally dipping below the horizon. Benny and Lee hadn’t bothered them since lunch, and Dean wondered if they were still even at the party.

Cas glanced at Dean before gazing back at the flames, “I’m not sure. Depends on a lot of things.”

There was a pause and Cas looked back over and Dean raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?” he said, trying to prompt Cas.

At first, Dean wasn’t sure Cas was going to say anything as he stayed silent, staring at the fire. Dean could see his eyes tracking the embers as they flew into the sky. 

Cas finally sighed and finished the drink in his hand. “Since I didn’t accomplish what I initially wanted to, Michael had other plans for me.”

 _Other plans for me_ , Dean frowned as he echoed the words in his head.

“That sounds ominous,” Dean said quietly, keeping his eyes on Cas for his reaction.

Cas nodded and kept his eyes on the fire, “It seems so.” 

They sat in silence as the music, turned down now, played on and others continued their conversation around the crackling fire.

Cas sighed, breaking the peace, and shifted in his chair. When Dean looked over, he saw Cas staring at the ground, clearly lost in his own thoughts, looking almost—

Scared.

Before Dean could say something, Cas brought his head up to look back into the fire. 

“Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul?” he asked in a voice so quiet Dean almost didn’t hear him. 

Cas’s question seemed as heavy as the invisible weight on his shoulders.

Dean took a moment to finish his drink and set his bottle on the ground. If this were any other person, he’d probably lie and still tell Benny or Lee or Charlie or Stevie—because who didn’t like a good bit of gossip? 

But Dean saw the fear and desperation in Cas’s eyes, and immediately recognized it as someone who was crying out to be listened to. It was the want, the absolute need to confide in someone, anyone, otherwise you’d go crazy. It was a look Dean’s no doubt had on his face several times throughout his life.

“Okay—yeah, yes,” Dean answered, keeping his voice low and not looking away. 

Cas sighed and set his cup on the ground next to the lawn chair.

There was another long pause and Dean wondered if Cas would wind up changing his mind.

“Michael is trying to arrange a marriage for me,” Cas said, turning his head to look at Dean, the desperation still in his eyes.

The crackle of the fire filled the silence between them and Cas was the first to break away, looking back to the flames as Dean processed the words. 

Arranged marriage? 

“I’m sorry—are you for real?” Dean said, still keeping his voice quiet but unable to keep the words in his mouth.

_Arranged marriage?_

Cas nodded, not looking at him. Dean felt an instinctive need to reach out and at least pat the guy on the back in sympathy. Instead, he kept his hand clenched in his lap. 

“How does that even work—is that even still legal?” Dean asked. 

Cas sighed again and leaned back in his chair. Dean couldn’t take his eyes off of him as the warmth of the fire’s glow contrasted heavily with the deep look of pure sadness lining Cas’s face. 

“It’s really hard to refuse—it’s hard to explain. Everything I had worked for is gone, and my obligations were always to my family.”

Dean knew that excuse. 

“Your family has like, millions of dollars and properties and an ugly clubhouse—“

Cas smiled.

“All I know of arranged marriages is from those romance novels where the lady has money the dude wants or something,” Dean finished lamely. 

Looking back over to Dean, Cas had a slight smirk on his face, highlighted by the fire. 

“You read a lot of romance novels?” 

Heat shot to Dean’s face, already warm from the fire, and hoped they were in the dark enough where Cas couldn’t see any flushed cheeks. Dean really had to learn to think before he spoke.

“What if I do?” Dean answered, raising his chin a little as if to challenge Cas.

Cas only continued to smile, “Everyone has their own preferences.”

There was another pause and in the distance, Dean heard someone setting off illegal fireworks from their own backyard party that weekend. Critters from the field just beyond Dean’s backyard began their nighttime musical and the fire continued to crackle and pop in front of them with someone tossing more wood in. 

There was more that Cas had to say. Dean could feel the tension from where he sat. 

He waited patiently. 

“Her name is Hannah Gray,” Cas said, his voice the quietest it had been all night, Dean almost couldn’t hear him again. “You’ve probably seen her—dark hair, blue eyes—“

“—looks like you?” Dean interjected, “Yeah, I worked for her uncle for a little bit.”

Cas blinked, looking shocked, “You worked for—“

“Yeah, did landscaping and a lot of property work. Her uncle isn’t uh…you know—“

“Welcoming?” 

Dean nodded and Cas grimaced, “Michael said—“ Cas paused, sighed, and tried again, “Michael said that Zachariah wanted to—“

“Topple y’all off the throne?” Dean provided, going off of conversations he’s overheard while working in the Gray’s backyard, with Zachariah screaming into his phone about a business deal. 

“Essentially.”

Any other time, any other circumstance, Dean would have loved news of the Charlestons getting their asses handed to them, rightfully so. 

He thought it would have happened with Lucas when scandal after scandal came to light when he ran for Mayor, but they somehow managed to make that an isolated incident. 

Michael’s method of acting aggressively pleasant to most of the townsfolk really worked wonders to repair their reputation, and Gabriel was a weird, somewhat lovable goofball that charmed the rest of the people who didn’t fall for Michael’s bullshit. 

The prospect of them being irrelevant was a dream to Dean, passed down from generations and generations. 

But now, sitting there and watching Cas work through his rocky course to his future play out on his face, Dean felt pity and sympathy. If Cas didn’t go through with Michael’s plans, their family would fail, and Cas would most likely suffer just knowing how Michael operated. If Cas went through with it to save his family—

Dean remembered how Zachariah was on his good days and his bad days. It was hard to differentiate the two. If anyone were to ask Dean to describe Zachariah in one word, he’d use “unstable”.

Dean watched the light flicker on Cas’s pensive face and tried to envision him in the space of Zachariah, having him as a father-in-law and dealing with him on a daily.

“Do you like her?” Dean asked, unable to keep the question out of his mouth. 

Cas sniffed and picked at the nail on his thumb. 

“She’s nice—I’ve met with her twice. I don’t know if she also knows what’s going on. I think she does,” Cas wondered, not looking back up. “She seems to like me.”

The misery in that sentence hung between them as they took another moment to process everything.

“I don’t understand why you can’t just say no,” Dean eventually said, running through scenarios in his head. 

“No means upsetting Michael, getting cut off from any resources I may need to keep going in life, basically never being able to see anyone I care about again and being on my own with no help. It’s not like I have a functional degree,” Cas turned to Dean with a sad smile. 

Dean shook his head, frowning

“I don’t get it—you said were gonna become a priest. Priests can’t get married. What was Michael gonna do in that case?”

Cas stayed silent, looking away as the answer came to Dean on his own.

_Whatever needed to be done._

“He keeps his hands clean,” Cas mumbled, still picking at his nail. 

They both descended into their comfortable resting silence as the fire continued to burn. 

Dean’s mind was moving a mile a minute, caught in between wanting the Charlestons to get the walloping they deserved, but knowing that would hurt Cas. Then, knowing that keeping his family on top meant another dismal future for the guy. It sounded like Cas couldn’t win no matter what door he chose.

“Where’s that girl you were looking for?” 

Cas’s voice brought Dean back out of his thoughts and he realized he had been staring at Cas’s hands in his lap. 

“I’m sorry—what?”

“That girl you were looking for at the party, Cassie?”

“What about her?”

Cas smiled at Dean’s confusion, “Where is she?

Sighing, Dean sat back in his chair and watched as two more logs were thrown onto the fire. 

“I got a hold of her the next day. We talked, we broke up, the ending to a short, unsatisfying story,” Dean explained, trying not to think too hard about that day. It was a brisk ending to a complicated relationship. “I didn’t really give her what she wanted.

Cas was silent for a moment before, “You were bad in bed?” 

They both took a moment before laughing, really laughing, to the point where some people probably glanced in their direction.

“I’m sorry—I think I had one too many,” Cas eventually said, looking at the bottom of his solo cup. 

Dean leaned over and took the cup away from him. 

“First, no more for you. Second, you are staying here until you sober up. Third, I’m not bad in bed—she just has a lot on her plate and got a dream job offer and planned on moving.”

“And you didn’t want to go with her?”

Dean sighed. _Yes, maybe,_ “No, I’m not a city guy. It’s just noisy and crowded and there’s nothing there that I don’t already have here.”

_And if I leave, your family takes this town for good._

The two fell into a comfortable silence as Benny threw the final logs onto the fire. The music played on, and guests slowly trickled out back to their cars.

Dean noticed Charlie and Stevie off to the side, standing by a tree. They were close together, talking, and Dean wondered if they were finally going to bite the bullet. 

He was always jealous of Charlie in the sense that she could do whatever she wanted when she wanted to do it. Even in a small town like Worthing, she didn’t care about hiding herself. In this group, she knew she was safe, but even at her job or around town, she’d openly flirt with women at bars on the outskirts of town or be extra friendly at the supermarket. Only one person ever gave her a hard time and that was, predictably, Michael.

But Dean was jealous, would probably always be jealous. He felt a sharp tug in his chest whenever Charlie talked about Stevie, one of the tour guides at Dino-Park two towns north in Pascona. Charlie knew who she was. 

Meanwhile, Dean had consistently kept one part of himself locked in chains and thrown into the deepest part of his mind, never to see the light of day. 

Until today.

When Dean turned back around, he noticed Cas watching Charlie and Steve as well with a sad curiosity Dean wondered was also plastered on his own face. 

When he realized Dean caught him, Cas turned his head and went back to picking at his thumb. 

“I don’t imagine you saw a lot of that in your upbringing,” Dean said, keeping his eyes on Cas’s face. That was one thing he wasn’t sure of, and it didn’t strike him until now that he should have probably gauged where Cas stood on certain things before inviting him. 

“Actually, I did,” Cas answered quietly, keeping his eyes on his lap. He laughed when he saw Dean’s face. “You think I would have gone to all-boys schools and not seen that? Statistics alone—yes I saw it.”

Dean didn’t know how to ask the question delicately so he gave himself some time to collect his thoughts.

But Cas answered for him, “If you’re asking if I’ve ever had a problem with it, then no.”

He settled down from his amusement and spoke softly, still picking at his thumb. 

Dean’s stomach did a small swoop that his brain took as confirmation that it was okay to keep this guy around—family heritage or not. 

“What about you?” Cas asked.

“I have friends—”

“That doesn’t mean much,” Cas said, glancing at Charlie and Stevie. “People can be good at hiding their disgust I’ve learned over time. So, what about you?”

Dean didn’t expect the question to be thrown back at him, especially as Cas finally brought his gaze back up again with the fire dancing in his eyes. It didn’t feel like an interrogation, but that question, those three simple words, had gotten him into trouble before. 

What about you, you leaving too?

What about you, you a faggot too?

What about you, you gonna end up like your pa? 

Dean swallowed hard but didn’t look away. 

“Yeah, I mean, doesn’t bother me. Love is love, you know?” He wanted to kick himself for the cliche in lieu of a deep, profound answer. 

Cas nodded and looked away. 

“I’m going to get a bottle of water. Do you want one or—“

“Something stronger, please,” Dean asked as Cas rose from his chair. “I’m not driving.”

Cas was panicking, but it was muddled by the alcohol he consumed that afternoon. But, tipsy or not, as he walked to the cooler, his brain moved a mile a minute.

He knew he shouldn’t have told Dean about Hannah but he did anyway. He couldn’t keep it to himself anymore. There was desperation over the last several days to confide in someone, anyone, as to what was happening. Cas expected it to be Gabriel whenever he returned Cas’s phone calls—he didn’t expect it to be a man he had only met three times.

It was something he really should have kept to himself, Cas acknowledged that. 

Then again, he knew this was always a fault of his. He trusted too much too fast, and that had almost gotten him in trouble several times growing up.

But still, Cas thought as he grabbed a water bottle and a beer, there’s a thing called instinct, or faith. 

That thought often conflicted with Michael, Lucas, and their father’s beliefs; that instinct is only to be trusted at some times, not all the time as a default.

With all the noise in Cas’s head between moving back home, meeting and liking someone he didn’t realize he wasn’t supposed to, and the Hannah business—the one instinct that he focused on was that he needed a friend, and Dean stood out as someone who could fill that role.

_Besides, if he blabs and that marriage is called off, then you’re in the clear._

_But at what cost?_ Cas countered in his mind. 


	6. Six

It was nearly one in the morning and Dean and Cas were the only ones left in the backyard. The fire had died down to glowing embers, and lawn chairs lay scattered in the yard along with empty cups and bottles and plates. The moon was high and bright overhead, and somewhere in the distance coyotes made their presence known.

Cas was more sober than not and Dean had quit drinking once people began leaving a couple of hours ago. 

Their conversation had again spun around everything but the things that would most likely drive a wedge between them—how the Charlestons ruined the Winchesters’ legacy in the town; how Dean constantly tried to make Michael’s life miserable and vise versa; what happened in recent years to make Dean hate Michael so much—

They discussed how bad or good they were at school—Dean telling horror stories of public education while Cas detailed weird traditions and customs at an all-boys Catholic boarding school. They talked about movies, vacations (not like Dean went on many, and when he spoke he was sure not to focus most of the attention on his family. He didn’t want to ruin a good time). Dean expressed his desire to live on the beach if he were to ever have to relocate, and Cas talked about how one trip to Maine had made him want to live there forever. 

“When you get married to Hannah, do you think you’ll move there?” Dean asked, almost immediately regretting his words. They hadn’t spoken about the elephant in the room since earlier in the evening, and almost immediately Cas tensed up. 

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, rushed, “I didn’t mean to—you know I guess what I was trying to say was—honestly I don’t know what I was trying to say.”

Dean cursed the amount of alcohol he consumed that night.

Cas sighed, and in the moonlight Dean could see the tension ease a little in his shoulders. In his slightly drunken state, Dean gave himself permission to appreciate the subtle shift between fire-light and moonlight affecting Cas in different ways. 

“It’s okay—it’s going to be part of my life, so I guess I have to get used to talking about it like it already is.”

Dean sighed and bit the inside of his cheek, wondering if he should ask what he wanted to. 

“Is there any chance you’ll wind up falling in love with her and end up happy? Like, any at all?”

“I highly doubt it.”

“Why? Because—“

“Because I’m not attracted to women.”

The words hung in the air between them and were almost so tangible that Dean could reach out and grab them. The awkward silence that followed made Dean wonder if Cas meant to say that out loud. Dean’s brain tried to catch up with the new information.

“I’m sorry,” Cas mumbled, “That’s twice in one night I’ve burdened you with my problems.”

The man sounded genuinely miserable, but Dean didn’t see it that way. 

It was also the first time since high school he had heard someone admit to their preferences out loud and wasn't found out in an extremely embarrassing way. Charlie was a blip that never saw a follow-up act by anyone.

And then there was Dean.

And sitting there in the moonlight with this extremely vulnerable person in front of him made him realize he should put some chips on the table as well. 

“No man, it’s alright,” he started, not sure how to proceed. He always wondered how some could just throw it out there that they were gay or anything like that, including Cas. “Look—you told me two big things tonight so I guess I should even the playing field a little.”

Dean straightened himself up and cleared his throat. He didn’t realize how long he had been stalling until Cas said his name, prompting him to continue. 

“The truth is that I’m… I don’t know the word for it but I sometimes also find men pretty attractive.”

“Attractive as in just good-looking?” Cas asked, and Dean realized he didn’t go deep enough with his statement. 

“No, attractive as in like please-get-into-my-bed kind of attractive,” Dean explained, not meeting Cas in the eye. _How do people do this?_ “What I’m saying is however I feel with women, it’s also the same with guys.”

It wasn’t the smoothest of confessions but Dean still said it, and most of all it was the first time he ever said it, out loud, to anyone, ever—on his own. 

He waited to hear Cas’s response, and in the dark, highlighted by moonlight, Dean could see Cas staring straight at him with an intensity that trapped him in his seat. 

“You’re telling me that to even the playing field,” Cas started slowly. “Does that mean you haven’t told anyone?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Not even your friends—your brother?” 

“No.” 

“How long have you been holding that in?”

Dean thought back on it, astounded on how long he had lived with this.

“About a decade. I figured it out when I was a freshman in high school.”

“Locker room?”

“Had a friend on the wrestling team. He liked to practice.”

Cas made a small ‘ah’ noise and Dean saw him turn his head away. 

Then something clicked.

“When did you realize it?” 

There was another pregnant pause before Cas cleared his throat, “College. Junior year of my undergraduate program.”

“Is that why—“

“Yes.”

“I don’t—I thought things were, like, improving, and there were gay priests and pastors or whatever all over the place,” Dean said, knowing he was being unhelpful but couldn’t shut his mouth.

Cas didn’t sound upset, only defeated, “It’s still restrictive. The things I heard in school, from teachers—it’s basically the same. Those stories you hear about inclusion are one in a million. And usually, if you’re gay and in the church, people automatically assume you’re—“

“Oh,” Dean cut off Cas before he could finish.

“Yeah. And it just was—you know how it was. You probably went through it too. It’s a lot of confusion.”

Dean nodded and thought back to that tumultuous time. He had spent most of the year terrified of hanging out with any boy and that was when he started his habit of speed dating any girl that crossed his path to try and drown out the other side.

“So now you can understand the situation with Hannah. Even more than its consent conflict,” Cas said, voice quiet and sad. 

Dean really hated hearing Cas sound like that in comparison to the laughter he has drawn out a few times now. It was a kind of sadness that told Dean that it was a constant presence in Cas’s life.

Dean did understand Cas’s problem even more: not only were two people being forced together with little to know about each other, now Hannah would be marrying someone who was incapable of finding anything about her sexually attractive, or attractive at all—

“—and you have to hide who you are for the rest of your life,” he finished out loud before cursing under his breath. He was so bad at keeping his thoughts to himself. 

Cas didn’t answer, but they knew it was the truth.

They sat there for another minute or two, some more coyotes sounding off in the distance before Cas dragged out his phone to check the time.

“I should go,” Cas said, putting his phone back in his pocket. 

Dean knew it was late, knew Cas had to head home, knew that the night had to eventually come to an end, but his stubborn and selfish side didn’t want it to. 

It was the most conversation, the most _honest_ conversation, he’d had with anyone since… he couldn’t place a time. It was nice hearing Cas talk, even if it was about depressing shit, and Dean couldn’t remember the last time he stayed up until nearly two in the morning just talking. 

And the fact remained that they had more in common than maybe previously thought.

They both lifted themselves up from their chairs and walked around the fire toward the gate. The backyard spotlight turned on, temporarily blinding Dean. When he blinked the spots out of his eyes, he watched as Cas went ahead of him to pass through the gate. His shoulders were hunched and he walked as if he had the weight of the world he knew on his shoulders. 

In a way, he did.

“Hey, hang on a second,” Dean said, causing Cas to stop and turn around. They had spent so long in the dark, Dean had forgotten how good Cas looked in the light, even if it was an unflattering backyard spotlight and Cas was slightly burnt from the sun. It wasn’t the same image as that afternoon when Dean tried his best to keep his eyes off Cas, but it still did the job. 

“Let’s not make this a one-off thing,” Dean said, holding up his phone. “I’ll be bugging you.”

Cas smiled, an honest one, the biggest one Dean’s been rewarded with since they first met. 

“Thanks for inviting me, I did have a good time tonight,” Cas said, smile weakening slightly. “And thank you for listening, I appreciate it.”

One of the things Dean would take away from this night was the confirmation that money doesn't equal happiness. Cas had no one in his life to talk to or confide in, he had no one that would listen as to why he stopped his future goals or to help sort through conflicting emotions. As far as Dean was concerned, Cas was just a pawn in his family’s game, and Cas knew it too. 

Dean stood in the driveway as Cas backed down the driveway, waving goodbye when he saw Cas raise his hand.

Standing there alone in his driveway with the crickets and cicadas, Dean’s sleep-deprived brain tried to catch up to everything that happened in the last twelve hours. 

Confused, happy, and tired, Dean turned and went inside, crawling into bed smelling like smoke and summertime, not bothering to change his clothes as he dreamed of beaches, cottages, and long, nighttime talks.


	7. Seven

Cas hit his boiling point again. 

He always had a skill of keeping cool under pressure and even if he was angry, he would express it in a way that didn’t further escalate the problem.

But right now, he wanted to throw the coffee maker at Michael’s head. 

“I don’t think it’s the right time to do that,” Cas said, voice getting louder. He hated shouting, but Michael wasn’t getting the message so perhaps volume would work.

“I don’t care what you think, I’m telling you the timeline here. You propose in one month, before Labor Day.”

The argument had kicked off when Michael returned home that afternoon, a week and a half after the cookout at Dean’s. Cas had been reading in the study in between texting with Dean when Michael plopped a ring box down on the end table. 

Tempers flared soon after Cas opened it to see a big, fat diamond sitting on a sterling silver band. 

“I’ve only been seeing her for a month!” Cas yelled back, “And what if she says no?” 

“She won’t say no. She likes you, she talks about you at dinner all the time, your dates are going well—she’ll say yes.”

They had gone on three more dates since the cookout, and after each one, Cas immediately texted Dean to fill him in on what had happened. It became the only way Cas could cope.

The first happened after a date at the movies with Hannah, seeing some action-romance hybrid, and then dinner at T. Fitzgerald’s Steak House. Cas had been pulled into a conversation with Hannah over her horses and which ones she thought would be better for breeding. Cas was sure he had time traveled back into some 1800s romance novel with aristocrats who couldn’t tie their own shoes. Her passion was admirable, but Cas couldn’t follow along. 

After dropping Hannah off at home, Cas had gone straight for his room, thanking God that Michael wasn’t home to ask him how it went. 

9:09 p.m.

_Are you still awake?_

Cas fired off a text. They had exchanged messages here and there since the cookout with Cas nervous of texting too much, not wanting to sound like a bother. He almost didn’t this time either, but that night was excruciatingly painful.

9:10 p.m.

**I’m 24 not 84. I’m usually awake until 3. How was teh date?**

Cas sighed. 

9:14 p.m.

_It was alright. They’re all alright. It’s irritating_

9:16 p.m.

**Is she a goodie two shoes?**

9:17 p.m.

_In a way._

_She likes horses and rules and went to an all girls boarding school. There’s not much about her life that is interesting to me given I’ve lived it (minus the horses)._

9:20 p.m.

**Sounds like she’s the 84 year old**

Cas had smiled and sat down at his desk, continuing the conversation, watching the very last traces of summer sunlight vanish over the horizon. 

They hadn’t been as candid over text as they had been at the cookout, but it was still something Cas looked forward to throughout the day. Any panic Cas had the morning after the cookout, fearful he overshared, had been dashed when Dean had texted him that morning after.

They’d spent the rest of the night after Cas’s date at T. Fitzgeral’s talking about their day, Dean clearly trying to steer the conversation away from the date, asking more about the food and how good the movie was instead of about Hannah. Cas figured it was Dean’s way of helping to take Cas’s mind off of the inevitable, even if it was just for a moment. 

They had continued to text each other over the course of a week and a half. They learned a little more about each other, like Dean’s real love of cooking, Cas’s love for strange Netflix shows, and the like. 

On the second Hannah date post-cookout, Cas snapped a photo of his plate that arrived as Hannah excused herself to the bathroom. Dean replied back that he was going to remake it right then and there, and sure enough, 30 minutes later, a photo message had come through of the same exact dish that somehow looked much more appetizing. Hannah had asked Cas what he was smiling at, and Cas just mumbled something about a funny comic someone sent him. 

Now, in the study and yelling at Michael, Cas wanted to retreat again to his room and just relay everything that had been happening to Dean to try and get a picture or joke that would make him smile and forget about—

“Hannah likes you, Cas, she likes you. You two will be happy together. There's literally nothing wrong with her,” Michael stated as if it were an undeniable fact. “The only person fighting this is you.”

“Does she know this is an arranged marriage or are you going to just let me tell her that, because I will,” Cas threatened. 

“She knows that we wanted to introduce you two, but no, she doesn’t know that it was for the end result to be marriage, and if you say anything to her—“

“What? What will you do to me? I can tell her anything I want, especially if she’s going to be my wife,” Cas almost choked on the word wife.

How had his life ended up like this? 

“You won’t tell her,” Michael argued, glaring at Cas, “You know it won’t work in your favor. You have a responsibility towards this family which you failed at when you graduated college and decided you wanted to do nothing!”

Michael shouted the last sentence in Cas’s face, throwing in the reminder that Cas was the family’s last saving grace to remain relevant, to stay afloat, to prosper. 

“So this is a punishment because I didn’t decide to go into the church?” 

Michael sighed and rubbed his face in agitation, “This is me telling you how you can do your part in this family and help. I know you never liked us that much, but that’s just how it goes.”

“What would you have done about the Grays had I actually became a priest? Were _you_ going to try and marry Hannah?” Cas spat back, “You’re nearly twenty years older than her so that would have been quite a scandal, and not one I think we could come back from again.”

Michael stood there, breathing heavily like he had just run a marathon. There was a glint of something in his eyes that Cas didn’t like, and that was confirmed his suspicions that he and Hannah had been the safer choice, and that something would have probably happened to Zachariah and God forbid even Hannah in order for Michael to win, to keep his life the way he needed it to be. 

“I expect that proposal by the end of August,” was all Michael answered before storming out of the study and into his office across the hall, slamming the door. 

Cas’s heart pounded in his chest and up into his throat as adrenaline rushed over him. He walked as calmly as he could over to the stairs and up to his room. There, he locked the door, threw open the windows for some kind of fresh air, 

Feeling the panic grow, Cas’s first instinct was to call Dean. The thought surprised him but it wouldn’t get out of his head. He had to talk to someone otherwise he’d go crazy.

But as he reached for his phone, he saw a few text messages from Dean who said he had taken a trip to a lake house a little west of town. 

The texts were mostly photos. Cas sat on his bed and scrolled through them, feeling his breathing return to normal. 

There were two pictures of Dean, one of them had to have been taken by Benny or Lee as Dean was cannonballing off a dock and into the water. Another one was a rather large fish that Dean said he caught that morning with hardly any gear and that it was nearly “impossible to do”.

Dean clearly was enjoying his day—and Cas didn’t want to be a bother with calling Dean and ranting to him about his issues, especially since his tone shifted, even over texts, whenever he brought up Michael. 

So Cas called Gabriel instead. 

It was hit or miss if Gabriel would pick up the phone. It always depended on his mood. 

“Hola, bro-la,” Gabriel’s voice greeted Cas. His voice sounded a little hoarse and Cas could hear what sounded like slot machines behind him, “What’s shakin’?”

This was a bad idea. 

“I just have a question,” Cas started unsure how to proceed, “but I don’t want to take you away from something.”

Someone shouted in the background in glee and another woman was laughing. They slowly got fainter until Cas heard birds chirping instead. 

“Nah I was just watching people play Blackjack. There was a couple that was really going all in. So what’s up?”

Cas paused, watching as clouds passed by outside his window. His room had started to feel like confinement.

“How did you get Michael to listen to you?” Cas asked, voice quiet just in case Michael had decided to emerge from his office and seek Cas out. 

Cas heard Gabriel sigh followed by a low whistle. 

“I never really got him to listen to me, I just didn’t listen to him.”

Cas closed his eyes as he felt rocks piling up in his stomach. It was always easier for Gabriel to have that confidence. It wasn’t an avenue readily available to Cas to take.

“Lucas didn’t either—in case you didn’t realize. Michael didn’t want him running for mayor, figured it was too much of a power grab.”

“He was punished for that,” Cas said, “You don’t think it wasn’t Michael who leaked those photos to the newspaper?”

“Still, sometimes you just gotta tell him ‘no’,” Gabriel said. 

Cas scoffed and rolled his eyes at no one, “That’s really helpful, thank you.”

“Where’s all this coming from?”

Cas pressed his lips together and sat back down at his desk, picking at the wooden grain. He didn’t know if he should tell Gabriel the whole situation with Hannah. 

The worst thing was Cas’s age difference from the rest of his family. He was an accident, an “oops,” and all of his brothers were at least twelve years older than he was. It was hard getting them to understand what it was like being in their early 20s again.

“He wants me to marry a young woman,” Cas eventually said. “She’s nice and everything but—“

“Wait, wait. He’s trying to get you to marry some girl—for what? He has two boys in school to carry on the name or whatever it was that Michael’s always bitching about.”

Technically one of the sons was Lucas’s, but no one ever brought it up. Adam belonged to Michael and his wife, Diana, who had divorced him soon after he was born. No one in the family blamed her in that decision. 

Lucas had Jack, illegitimate and part of his scandal that was released to the public during Lucas’ campaign. The woman, Kelly, had died giving birth to him and Lucas at first offered to take care of him, but then signed over adoption papers to Michael realizing he was unfit to be a father. Cas always gave him credit for that.

“Yeah, but they’re ten and twelve and in school and can’t marry a twenty-three year old woman,” Cas answered.

“But why—“

“There’s another family I guess—I don’t know. Maybe you know them—the Grays.”

“Oh yeah, they moved there a few years back. That guy—Zachariah seemed like a prick.”

“I’ve only met him in passing so far,” Cas said, starting to feel nervous.

“Well, when you have to be in his presence for more than five minutes, just remember to keep smiling and don’t mouth off. But I don’t see what that has to do with—oh.”

Cas waited for Gabriel to figure it out himself. He didn’t want to say it and give it more legitimacy.

“Michael’s really making you marry some poor girl just to keep them down a peg?” Gabriel asked, sounding disgusted. 

“That’s basically it.”

It was even more depressing when Gabriel put it so bluntly. Not only was Cas being used for business but he was viewed as the thing that would cheapen someone and their family.

“Is she in on it?” 

“I think she is a little bit—I don’t think she knows I’m supposed to propose in a little over a month though.”

Gabriel swore and then apologized to someone who must have been walking by. 

“What the hell was he gonna do if you went through with your plans to be a monk or something?”

Cas ran a hand over his face in annoyance. Gabriel had teased him for the better part of six years about Cas’s wanting to be a priest. 

“He wouldn’t say—which makes me nervous.”

Gabriel swore again, “Then it sounds like you don’t have a choice, bucko.”

Cas felt his throat tighten a little as the one person who usually had a way out for every situation was telling him that it was basically hopeless. Marry Hannah, or they’d have to deal with whatever it was Michael had for plan B, and while Michael liked to keep blood off his hands, he may not mind dirtying up someone else.

“I just don’t understand why he cares so much,” Cas mulled out loud, not really expecting an answer.

There was silence over the phone and Cas thought Gabriel hung up on him. 

“You really only had a few years before Dad left, or died, or wherever the hell he went—but this all stems from him. And our grandfather, and his father, and his father—“

“I don’t—“

“Worthington’s a battleground. Not literally, but figuratively.”

“I don’t know any of this. He never told me in detail.”

Gabriel explained it all over the course of 40 minutes. Cas’s phone almost died. 

He started with what the local historians knew, about the Charlestons and the Winchesters both settling on the same land way back in the day, how both helped build the town up. Gabriel went on to say that when the split happened, it was when the Charlestons made business connections in Kansas City to bring more money into the town, but the Winchesters had built nearly every building that was still standing from that time. There had been debates ever since on whose town it really was in the sense of status and pride.

“If he’s this concerned about keeping the power struggle up then there must still be a Winchester there,” Gabriel said.

Cas paused, a sick feeling growing in his stomach, “Yeah, why?”

“Dean, right?”

“Yeah.” Worry and fear caught in Cas’s throat as Gabriel let out a long whistle.

“Poor kid.”

“Why?”

Gabriel paused before sighing deep, almost defeated, “Because Micheal will do whatever possible to try and get every last one of them out of Worthington. Did he mention something about a development on the south side of town?”

Cas nodded before realizing Gabriel couldn’t see him. 

“Yeah, he said the Grays wanted to build there but that was property Michael wanted to develop himself and then said once he got it, the Grays would keep trying to find spots he wanted to develop on, making him have to move fast, potentially losing money,” Cas explained.

Gabriel paused on the other side of the phone after Cas finished before putting forth a heavy, frustrated sigh. 

“Dean lives on the south side. Michael wants to demolish that whole side of town, and I guarantee you those plans include threatening Dean to surrender his property. He already did it with three others in town when he built the shopping area.”

Cas sat on his bed and stared out the window, struggling to process what he was hearing.

“But Dean can say no, right?”

“Sure,” Gabriel said, “But Michael will put the pressure of the town on him. He’d give in eventually. That’s why Michael is so gung-ho on obtaining those permits. And, once he did, and you and this Hannah girl hitch up, that’s more problems for that kid.”

Cas paused to think about why until he remembered seeing Gray Real Estate signs on for sale houses around town while driving Hannah around.

“Because Zachariah is—”

“Yep,” Gabriel confirmed. “There’s nothing this guy can really do to stop them. If Zachariah and Michael merge companies then—”

“They really do own the entire town,” Cas finished for Gabriel, feeling nausea rise inside him as Gabriel made a noise of agreement. “He won’t be able to live here.”

“And it will be the end of the Winchester dynasty in Worthington, Kansas.”


	8. Eight

The last thing Gabriel said to Cas to get out of the house, do something fun, anything to get him out of town for a few hours. 

During his conversation with his brother, Dean had texted Cas a few more pictures. Even that infectious smile couldn’t wash away the deep sense of sadness that grew in Cas during his phone conversation. 

He had known there was animosity between his family and another while growing up but never stayed around long enough to know the details. But when Michael explained it to him recently, the only word that came to Cas’s mind was “superfluous”. 

The nuances of an over 200-year terf war did not sink into Cas’s conscience, but he didn’t think it needed to. He had decided halfway through Michael’s poor attempt at retelling history that the whole thing was absolutely absurd. 

But, with Gabriel gone, Lucas gone, the kids in school (currently at some Christian sleep away camp)—Michael, Cas, and Dean were all that was left. 

And Michael had now turned Cas into a strategic piece to move against Dean, trying to strike a final blow while Dean was all alone and probably already had his back up against the wall for some time. 

Trying to stave off the feeling of dread Cas felt coming, he continued to scroll through the photos Dean sent him. Cas paused on one of him soaking wet with a life vest on, glaring at the camera, holding up a middle finger.

4:16 p.m. 

**Tried to water ski. Didn’t go so well.**

Cas couldn’t help the small smile that formed as he let his eyes wander, trying to focus on the photo to block out other depressing thoughts and worries. 

It took a moment for Cas to realize what exactly it was he focused on. Dean had dressed down to only board shorts that now clung to him, still soaking wet from just climbing out of the water. Cas’s eyes wandered from the glare and pout on Dean’s displeased face, down to the bright orange life jacket that took up half of Dean’s upper body with its hulking mass, further down to realize that the shorts slipped a little lower down from where they’d usually sit, heavy and wet and molding to certain areas—

Cas quickly shut off his phone and left it on the bed as he stood, walking over to the window by his desk. Heat had risen to his face, accompanied by a rising tide of guilt and shame. 

The emotional rollercoaster continued. 

The spark of exhilaration that struck Cas when Dean confessed his preferences returned as he watched stray clouds pass by. The sun had already begun its descent on the other side of the house, leaving Cas’s room shaded and cool, which helped him as he tried to control the uncomfortable heat inside him that came with that photo.

Cas had met others on the same side of the spectrum as himself over the years, but in the environment he was in, either Cas or the other guy always felt uncomfortable talking about it, let alone acting on it. 

In any case, an extreme sense of guilt would strike Cas when taking a passing glance at someone he had a suspicion of or was attractive in one way or another. To try and combat it, Cas would do penance all night and well into the early hours of the morning.

It never helped. 

As Cas turned to look at his phone, wanting to give in to the desire to open back up those pictures, he realized he hadn’t been to church since he left Indiana. He hadn’t even done his nightly prayer routine he had gotten so accustomed to over the years.

But the phone laid on the bed, beckoning him, and gently asking Cas to forget about church for now. He could go this Sunday; it was a problem for a different day. 

Sighing, Cas walked over and sat back down on his bed, waking his phone and drawing up the photo again before he could stop himself. 

He’d never had another man in bed before, was still new to all of that, but he had seen videos. He didn’t watch a lot of them, but sometimes, it was all he could do. The aftermath usually led to more shame, but it was an indulgence he gave himself every so often. 

Letting his eyes wander across the photo, Cas allowed his imagination to wake itself, conjuring up images of Dean maybe without the ugly life jacket—

The phone buzzed in Cas’s hand, causing him to jump and throwing him back into the present. 

He tapped on the notification and it instantly brought him to a photo of Dean sleeping on a lounge chair with a flowery garden hat on his face, still only dressed in only board shorts that were drier now, but sans life jacket.

The photo came with no message, and if Dean was sleeping then it had to be someone else. Cas didn’t focus too much on who may have sent it, because the angle alone drew all of his attention. It was as if the person on the other side of the camera knew Cas was staring at the other photo and had been wishing for a more, unobstructed view. 

And they really delivered. 

Dean’s front appeared slightly red in the sun, seemingly forgetting about sun lotion. One leg bent at the knee, causing one leg of the shorts to hang. Whatever preview they were trying to show became obstructed by shadow, but Cas could use his imagination.

Dean really was an attractive man. 

And Cas had never been put in a situation where he could freely think about another man like this. 

_You’re taken—_ his mind tried to remind him but Cas pushed that voice aside, wondering if it was ever possible to just _see_ what things were like. 

He and Dean got along just fine, Dean wasn’t seeing anyone anymore, and Cas—

All at once, everything came rushing back to Cas; marriage to a woman to keep political and economical power; said power would help to force Dean out of his home; _You’re being used to hurt him_.

Cas stood and pocketed his phone before any more conflicting thoughts tethered him to his room, causing him to spiral for the rest of the night.

Gabriel said to have fun, and Cas decided to heed that advice.

Cas had to wait a couple more hours, but at 9 p.m., Club Paradise opened its doors for the night.

It advertised itself as a gay club, male-only, drag performances on Sunday and Wednesday nights. Cas picked it because it was the first on the list that had a rating higher than three stars. He called an Uber to take him to Kansas City 45 minutes away and he was going to experience something _gay_ because then maybe he could calm himself down. Maybe the thoughts that lingered too much on Dean would fade a little once Cas was more exposed to this life he had kept at arm's length for so long.

But now, hiding out in the cafe nearly an hour after the club opened, Cas’s confidence and focus withered.

There will always be that part in the back of his mind, in that subconscious part that makes you second guess everything, that still thought he could turn around right now and finish what he had started in school, get back on the path he had set for himself. 

If Cas were to step foot in a club like Paradise or continue looking at photos of a new friend like he had that evening, then the chances of returning to that path dwindled further and further. 

But Cas stood from his chair, and let his feet carry him not back home, but across the street to stand in line.

He stood out among the crowd as someone in plain dress while most had flashier outfits on, ready to party. Some wore makeup, some just had glitter, others weren't as flashy but still had more style than Cas with his jeans and button-down. 

The bouncer took his card without a word, handed it back, and ushered Cas in. 

And just like that, he entered into the world he long thought out of his reach.

Music that shook the sidewalk outside nearly deafened Cas as he walked in. Tables dotted the club on the outskirts where people sat to enjoy drinks with friends or dates. They watched those on the dance floor who moved in the flashing lights, completely lost in themselves. There were two bars on either end of the club, front and back, with neon lights outlining the counter and back shelves. The colors behind the bottles of alcohol shifted constantly, giving the appearance of an ever-moving rainbow.

Someone nearly bumped into Cas as he stood there taking in the scene and he moved out of the way as not to block the others who knew where they were going, what to do, who to talk to. Those who learned they had belonged here long before Cas did.

Swallowing the self-doubt that began to show its face, Cas headed to the back bar where more people seemed to be, firm in his conviction to try and immerse himself for at least some time in that atmosphere.

The people at the other tables paid Cas no attention as he walked by, but he did almost bump into one as his eyes focused on three men on the dance floor, pressed against each other with lazy smiles on their faces, moving easily with the beat of the music.

Cas apologized to those at the table, too enraptured to feel embarrassment. After another minute of fumbling, he finally reached the back bar counter, feeling like he had run a marathon. 

The bartender walked up with a wide, friendly smile on his face, also dressed ordinary, asking Cas what he wanted. 

“Whatever you recommend,” he answered, needing to raise his voice over the music.

“What I recommend is pretty strong, you good with that?” the bartender asked, smirking. 

“I’m perfectly fine with that. I didn’t drive,” he answered, taking up an empty stool. The bartender winked at him and disappeared to another part of the bar.

Cas kept his back to the dance floor as he tried to steady his nerves. Dancing wasn’t his “thing”, and the image of the three men on that stage kept replaying in his head. Cas definitely wasn’t ready for that yet. 

He wondered if he ever would be.

The bartender soon came back over with a neon blue drink inside a martini glass with what looked like rock candy dusting the edges. It looked very sweet and foreign. Something new.

“Here you are, and you don’t have to pay,” the bartender said as Cas pulled out his wallet. When Cas frowned in confusion, the bartender pointed down the counter to—

Dean. 

He sat there, back to the bar facing the dance floor with a smile on his face, waving his hand. 

Cas raised a hand, giving Dean a small smile. He mumbled “Thanks” to the bartender and picked up his drink to make his way over to the empty seat next to Dean. 

“I don’t want to be rude or anything but I never expected you to be in a place like this,” Dean shouted over the music.

Cas settled himself in, but still had his back to face the dance floor. He didn’t look directly at Dean, needing to purge his head of the thoughts and images it conjured up earlier before looking the man straight in the eye.

“I needed a switch-up instead of reading all night,” Cas replied.

“What?” Dean leaned in more to hear Cas and he was now only inches away. Cas stiffened, still unable to look at Dean.

“I said I needed a switch-up instead of reading all night!” Cas raised his voice as he took a tentative first sip of his drink. The bartender didn’t lie, it was almost obnoxiously strong, and Cas was correct in guessing how sweet it would be. Cas’s face screwed up, waiting for the aftertaste to vanish.

Dean laughed, turned around, and grabbed his own simple-looking drink.

“I thought you were at a lake house,” Cas said, finally looking at Dean. He immediately wished he hadn’t. The flashing and ever-moving lights from the dance floor played off Dean’s face, lighting him at every angle at different moments and his eyes had a spark of wild excitement to them.

Cas took another sip of the God-awful drink.

“I was, came home a few hours ago,” Dean explained. “Got bored.”

Feeling more relaxed (and wondering just how much alcohol was in the drink where only two sips dulled his nerves), Cas turned in his chair to also face the dance floor. 

Idle chatter proved difficult during some of the songs, and if they wanted to say something, one of them had to lean in close to talk into their ear. The level of intimacy it required to have a conversation in the middle of a night club threw Cas off every time Dean got _too_ close. Cas was torn between wanting to distance himself for his own sake and staying right, soaking in every minute of it to add to what he had built in his head earlier in the evening. 

Some guilt accompanied his choice to stay inches away from Dean, but after a few more sips of his drink, Cas’s hesitancy slipped away from him.

Dean was taken aback when he saw Cas at the end of the counter, looking like a deer caught in headlights, completely out of his element. 

He could relate.

Club Paradise was always on Dean’s “maybe” list but never had the courage to actually go. It was Lee’s idea. 

The three of them had the day trip to the lake planned for a few weeks, but after his conversation with Cas the other day after everyone from the cookout left, Dean decided that he would finally tell his friends what was going on.

Part of the decision was fueled by guilt that he told someone else before his own friends, but the larger part that drove Dean to divulge was another level of guilt about Cas in general.

Dean had kept telling himself that if he told more people he trusted, then he would stop focusing on the one person who did know.

It didn’t work. Benny and Lee took Dean’s admission in stride with no problems, and yet Dean spent most of the day wondering why he didn’t invite Cas. It would have been last minute but the guy could use another day in the sun. 

Those smaller, quieter thoughts eventually rolled into other ones, with Dean remembering how good Cas did look out and about, looking more relaxed in the sun and with a smile that matched; How comfortable it felt standing next to him, sitting next to him for hours and just talking. Dean never “just talks” with anyone; How it felt when Cas confessed to Dean that no, he actually was not attracted to the ladies whatsoever; How for a good portion of the night Dean could only think about the fact that he hadn’t met anyone in town that would actually admit to being the big G. Dean had his suspicions, but said nothing; Again, how _seriously good_ Cas would look out and about that afternoon with them, especially sans business casual clothes. 

Cas hadn’t texted him back all day and Dean became annoyed at himself for constantly checking. He knew Cas was likely out with Hannah.

Which was another thorn in Dean’s thoughts. 

By late-afternoon, sun-drunk, and tired from the day, the three of them chatted again, just trying to soak in the final remnants of their vacation day. Dean let slip that he may or may not be fixated on Cas—not in a creepy way but Dean explained he wanted to tell them so they could hold him back a little, and not do anything stupid for a pretty face. Especially when a stupid decision could once again lead to Michael’s wrath.

Dean did remember to keep Cas’s secrets. 

Shortly after their conversation, Dean slipped the stupid hat over his face and napped for a bit.

It was on the way home Lee suggested going to Club Paradise if Dean was focusing too much on one guy.

“There’s plenty of them there, I’m sure you’ll find someone to take your mind off of Cas,” Lee had said. 

Dean thought about it for a minute, recalling his own doubts about his interest in Cas, wondering if it was just because he was the only available guy in town or if Dean really was attracted to—

“Fantastic idea,” Dean had agreed, then glancing at both of his friends. “Do any of you have anything to wear?”

No one at the club was his type. 

Dean had to ask himself what _was_ his type, and all that came back was _Cas_ and that was unhelpful.

There was no one like Cas in Paradise.

Dean wanted to leave almost as soon as he got there, but he made the trip, the bartender was _kinda_ hot, and he’d stay there for maybe an hour before calling it quits for the night and declaring it a failed experiment.

He had been there for about 45 minutes when Cas showed up. 

_So much for that_.

The two talked as well as they could over the noise, but mostly just sat and enjoyed each other’s company, which Dean was grateful for. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep his composure every time Cas leaned in close to say something. Their closeness made it hard for Dean to focus on why he came to the club for the first place. Eventually, he forgot his main goal entirely. 

Dean wished Cas had stayed facing the bar that had less lighting to it. But, Cas did turn around to face the dancefloor, and the multicolored lights, swinging around and flashing to the beat of whatever song was playing, highlighted Cas’s face in the most agonizing way. Dean had spent the whole day wanting Cas back out in the sun with him, but the view he currently had was great, if not better. The seriousness of Cas’s resting face contrasted with a cacophony of rainbow lights and pop-house music was something Dean tried to commit to memory.

Dean tried not to look that much, but Christ, it was hard.

Nearly an hour later, Dean began to notice Cas starting to sink in his chair a little, a frown deepening. 

Dean leaned over and bumped shoulders to get his attention. 

Cas looked up, and the mood had definitely shifted in him. The music and atmosphere were exhausting, Dean conceded. Maybe this wasn’t either of their scenes.

“You good?” He asked, leaning in again. He could have raised his voice, but he liked leaning in close. 

Cas attempted a smile but it was a weak one, “I think I’m going to go home.”

Dean panicked, not wanting to stay at the club on his own. The experiment had failed, and he could think about the ramifications after but for right now, he didn’t want to be there if Cas wouldn’t be.

“Hang on a sec, I’ll go too.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Cas said, but Dean pretended not to hear him as he patted himself to make sure he had his wallet and keys. He dropped a few extra bucks for the bartender, who waved his thanks. 

As they snaked their way through the crowd, Dean kept glancing back to be sure Cas was still close behind. When they got by the door, Cas got cut off by a gaggle of guys heading to the bar. Dean saw, stopped walking, and tried to walk back when a man standing nearly a half foot taller than Dean stood in front of him, blocking his path. Dean may not know exactly what kind of guy he’d be into, but as the man leered at him, Dean knew that it was _definitely_ not someone like that.

The guy grinned, about to open his mouth when Cas came up from behind him, grabbed Dean’s arm, and pulled him away. Dean smiled as Cas didn’t let go until they reached the exit on the other side of the club. 

“Thanks—dude came out of nowhere,” Dean said once they were outside in the cooler, summer air. He hadn’t realized just how suffocating the club was.

Cas took a deep breath and cleared his throat, “No problem—at first I didn’t know if you knew him so I held back but then realized you weren’t talking and he did look rather intimidating and you looked a little nervous so I assumed you _didn’t_ know him so… yes. No problem.”

Cas rambled thanks to that drink (which took forever for him to finish), and Dean laughed. In the streetlight, Cas’s flushed face gave away any composure he tried to exude.

“Nah you’re right—I don’t know why I came here really.” _Yes, you do._ “Figured it would just be something to do tonight. I was still wired from the lake trip so wanted to kind of… ride it out,” Dean finished lamely. 

Cas nodded along but kept his mouth shut. He looked uncomfortable as they continued to stand near the entrance to the club, glancing over his shoulder, probably wondering if Tiny was gonna come through the doors and grab them both. 

Dean waited a moment to see if Cas would provide his explanation for being at a nightclub when out of the two of them, Cas was the least likely to show up there.

But Cas kept his mouth shut and began walking down the sidewalk, slow at first so Dean could catch up beside him. 

“Where’d you park?” Dean asked, “I can walk you there.”

“I didn’t take one—I took an Uber,” Cas explained, kicking a rock, “Just in case I became severely inebriated.”

Dean smiled as he too looked down at the sidewalk. Sometimes Cas just had that classic “I grew up in a fancy school” kind of talk and wondered if the more “inebriated” he became, the worse it got. Maybe two more of those drinks and Cas would start with the thou’s and thee’s.

“Well, I can take you home then,” Dean offered. As soon as the words left his mouth he wanted to take them back, his brain kicking him for inviting Cas to stay too close to him for nearly another hour, this time with no club-goers to distract themselves with.

“I don’t think you can drive up to my house without Michael noticing,” Cas said, grimacing, “Your car is pretty inconspicuous.” 

“Well if your legs work, I can just drive you to the top of your property and you can walk down.” 

Cas remained silent, still kicking the rock. 

“I guess that can work. Thank you,” he eventually answered, still sounding a little distant. He sounded off. In their conversations, he was still stiff sometimes but more animated than he was tonight. Cas seemed there physically, but not mentally. 

“Penny for your thoughts,” Dean said quietly as they turned a corner. He didn’t want to pry, but they’d both revealed pretty deep secrets to each other, that wall had already been broken, so maybe he could get Cas to dump whatever unnecessary load he had on his shoulders. 

Dean really hated seeing that frown.

Cas still said nothing as they continued to mosey down the sidewalk to the parking garage. Given that he hadn’t stopped at that point, Dean assumed Cas would take him up on the offer. 

That’s when they heard people in the alleyway. 

In what Dean assumed was a space just outside the backroom of the club, because the one thing he did know was that there was always a back room, there were several men paired up, some on their knees, the rest standing. Neither one had any shame in displaying what was very thorough, and what sounded like very pleasing blow jobs.

They both slowed their pace, with Dean knowing he _shouldn’t_ but—

It only took half a second for both of them to glance over, see the blow job orgy happening, absorb those sounds into their head, and move on—but that half-second was all Dean’s brain needed to cement the image of the men silhouetted by the back door light of the club. Those standing had their heads tilted back against the brick of the building, using their hands to guide those on their knees. The guys on the ground seemed more than eager to go wherever the men above them wanted them to go. Dean knew what the men standing were feeling, he’s been there before and it was nothing new, so instead his imagination threw itself into full gear, forcing Dean to wonder how it would feel kneeling on asphalt, out in the open without a care in the world, feeling someone else’s hands tightening in his hair as he—

Cas sped up as they approached the end of the block and almost missed the crosswalk. Dean grabbed his arm to stop him and Cas obeyed, keeping his eyes on the ground. They both saw the same thing, both heard the same thing—the awkwardness ballooned between them and Dean couldn’t shut the hypotheticals off in his head as they approached an avenue Dean didn’t want to think of, at least not while standing next to Cas. 

The imaginary situation wanted to replace a faceless man with Cas, launching internal panic in Dean. 

_It’s escalating too fast, you’re going too fast, pump the brakes you, idiot—_

“I shouldn’t have come here,” Cas mumbled as they waited.

Dean almost responded with, “I’m happy you did”, but the crosswalk told them to move, and the words died in his throat.

Truth was, Dean knew he shouldn’t have gone there either. 

If anything, it made things worse. 

Reaching the parking garage, Dean unlocked the car and they both slid inside without a word. 

The ride back to Worthington was so tense, you’d need a diamond drill to slice through it. 

Dean had turned on the radio in a desperate attempt to fill his head with sound other than the breathy moans and whimpers from the alleyway, but all it did was remind him of how he could still hear the music when they passed by the group, some men on the ground even moving to its beat. 

But Dean kept it on. The alternative was way, way worse.

It did alarm Dean how fast he went from lazily wondering about the “boy next door” (even if theoretically, that boy should be 100% off-limits), to—whatever it was he suddenly craved. It wasn’t like it had been months since he got laid or anything. He wasn’t seeking anything out purposefully.

On his computer, Dean had a file folder with downloaded porn only featuring guys. Password protected, titled something stupid, tucked behind another icon. 

But watching it on a small screen didn’t exude the same amount of energy that the scene in the alleyway did. Not by a long shot. They never triggered such a strong reaction in Dean.

It wouldn’t have been such a big deal if his brain did not keep trying to overthrow his wishes and stick Cas in where the mystery man would be. That’s what made it unbearable to think about.

The question still remained if Dean was only interested in Cas because he was the only one available if Dean wanted to travel down this avenue.

He chanced a glance at Cas who leaned against his door, staring out the window as they rushed past fields and streetlights. 

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the adrenaline—but Dean decided that despite everything, he was drawn to Cas because of who he was, not because he was the only one available.

Dean finally pulled over at the entrance of Cas’s street. The Charleston’s home was the only house on the culdesac and from a distance, it looked like only the front entryway had a light on. Michael was most likely asleep.

They sat in their seats as the car idled, neither one of them seemingly wanting to be the first one to talk. The radio fuzzed as the station from Kansas City struggled to reach that part of Worthington. 

Dean reached over and turned the radio off completely, leaving them in the dark, in complete silence sans the car engine, and without anything else to focus on other than the inevitable “goodbye”.

“Thank you for the ride home,” Cas said a moment later. Before Dean could figure out what to say back, Cas opened the door and slid out without another word. 

Dean watched as Cas walked down the road without so much as a single glance over his shoulder, passing under two streetlights. It wasn’t the sunlight, it wasn’t a rainbow dancing over him—just lamps and dull orange light guiding him back to the equivalent of prison.

A small, worried voice in Dean wondered if he had done something wrong, that maybe he should have said something on the way home. 

_Maybe Cas thinks he did something wrong too_.

As Cas turned into his driveway and down the little slope to the home, Dean sighed, telling himself that as soon as he walks through his door he had to send a text, just so Cas didn’t go on thinking—

Dean reached down to put the car in gear and noticed something in the passenger seat. 

Cas left his wallet behind.

Sighing, Dean took out his phone about to text Cas to come back and get it when he stopped, thumb above the unlock button. 

A better idea came to mind.

Stupid, reckless, idiotic—but a better idea.

Dean shut the car off and opened the door, stuffing the wallet in one back pocket and his phone in the other. 

Before doubt froze him in his tracks, Dean set off down the road on the other side of the road, away from the street lights. 

Just in case. 

The Charleston property took up the last third of the road before it came to an end, shifting into a dirt gravel road that would take someone out into a field and into the woods a few hundred yards out. A stone wall followed the street from where the property line started, only breaking to allow for two ugly statues at their driveway. Then the wall picked back up all the way to the end of the road, turning into a wooden fence and hedges along the eastern side of the property, the same fence and hedges he snuck past to gate crash the party. 

He caught a security camera just in time, planted on their gate buzzer. A car had been parked in front of there last time. There were no lights on his side of the street but he still stepped off the asphalt and walked between the trees.

Reaching the end, Dean crossed the street and slipped behind the safety of the high hedges and fence, hoping to God the gate was still unlatched. The door would be too high for Dean to reach over and do it himself.

Dean walked fast, feeling watched even though he knew he slipped past the camera. His nerves began to catch up with him, yelling at him he was a _stupid man, stupid stupid what the fuck are you doing—_

Reaching the gate, he grabbed the handle, wincing at the creak of the untreated metal and wood. 

But the gate was still unlocked. 

Dean had to laugh to himself as he pulled the door open. For someone so paranoid about security, Michael really didn’t take the time to shore it up.

When he had been walking down the road, Dean couldn’t see a light on in any of the rooms, hoping one he got to the other side he could tell which one was Cas’s room. 

Standing in the back garden, Dean saw no lights on. 

He moved further to the back property line to see if any were on in the rear of the house, but still nothing. 

Dean weighed his options. Cas _would_ need his wallet—Dean didn’t know when his next date was. But Dean could just call it quits and head back to his car and call Cas until he eventually picked up the phone—

Reaching back, Dean pulled out his phone. He’d just do it there. 

Cas didn’t pick up the first time Dean decided he would only try more time and if Cas didn’t pick up, he’d leave it outside the door of the kitchen and text Cas it was there. If the guy was sleeping then he was sleeping and—

“Dean?” Cas answered the phone, his voice hoarse. Dean did wake him up.

“Hey—sorry, I didn’t know if you were already asleep,” Dean said quietly.

“It’s okay,” Cas mumbled, “What’s going on?”

“You left your wallet in my car,” Dean explained.

“Oh—okay. Are you still up the street?” Cas still sounded groggy. 

“I’m actually outside right now,” Dean said, stepping back a little to look up at the rows of windows. “I just need to know what window is yours.”

As soon as Dean finished talking, he heard a thump over the phone and a light turn on in a window near the back of the house on the second floor. 

“Please don’t tell me you walked down the driveway—“ Cas started, sounding more awake now. Dean walked over to the window, watching the curtains rustle before pulled to the side.

“Nah, you have a gate back here,” Dean explained as he saw a figure appear in the window. It opened and Cas stuck his head out, resting his hands on the roof hip underneath. 

Dean couldn’t see his face that well, but he already knew Cas had a frown of disapproval. He leaned back inside for a moment before grabbing his phone and pressing it against his ear, leaning a little further out so the light didn’t silhouette him. He did indeed have a frown of disapproval. 

They both stayed silent for a moment. Dean didn’t know what to say. 

“Are you going to give it to me?” Cas finally asked, his voice not quite scolding as it was teasing. Dean smirked. 

“What’s the magic word?”

Dean heard Cas sigh and saw him tilt his head with a smile in place now.

“Give me my wallet,” Cas said, too gentle to be a demand.

Dean almost _almost_ dared Cas to come down and get it from him, face to face. He wanted to see the smile up close to replace the image of Cas appearing dejected in the car.

But instead, Dean inhaled, then tossed the wallet up. Cas had to extend himself out of the window a little more to catch it with one hand. He only had on a bathrobe that opened slightly as he reached out. Dean unashamedly stared. 

“Thank you,” Cas said, turning around and tossing the wallet into his room, “You were a little stupid, but thank you.”

Dean bit his lip from laughing out loud and instead let it turn into a smile, “Not a problem at all.”

A brief pause.

“I know I seemed off tonight, and I’m sorry if I ruined your night.”

“You didn’t ruin my night”, Dean said, shaking his head, “That guy in leather was probably going to ruin my night.”

Cas let out a soft laugh, a completely new sound that Dean’s brain flagged as _Important, Do It Again._

“Let’s do it again sometime,” Dean suggested, lowering his voice. 

Cas paused for a moment before he sighed, the smile still on his face. 

“Okay.”


	9. Nine

That Sunday, Cas went to church for the first time since he came back home. 

He didn’t take solace in the fact he was only coming back to God because he had a problem that needed solving, but it was just something he had to accept. 

Michael was pleasantly surprised when Cas said he wanted to join him that day, and they both headed out for 9 a.m. mass at St. Paul’s in the neighboring town of Florence. 

Friday night and that Sunday morning clashed in Cas’s head as he dipped his fingers into the holy water and did the sign of the cross. He felt like a large sign hung around his neck that screamed “SINNER” while walking down the aisle after Michael.

Despite the intimidation, as Cas sat in the creaky pew his family always sat in, looking at the stained glass displayed above the outside aisles and the large, ornate statue of Christ on the Cross, it felt more comforting that not. Nothing had changed.

The altar, the candles, the greenery which they just must have kept replacing with the same plant year after year—it was if Cas hit pause when he went to college. 

The music began and they all stood to begin mass. He glanced to the right to see which priest it was that Sunday and felt relief wash over him that it was Father Laurence. He had always been Cas’s favorite and the easiest to talk to about his problems.

“Let us pray in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit,” Father Laurence said as he stood at the altar. Before Cas closed his eyes and bowed his head, he saw the priest turn to him and wink.

An hour and a half later, Cas hung around. He told Michael he wanted to catch up with some people and that he’d walk home. 

Cas didn’t want it known that he was going to confession. 

As people filed out, Cas waited in the wings. He thought about slipping into a confessional while Father Laurence said his goodbyes outside and just pull the light so he knew someone was in there—but Cas didn’t want an anonymous confession. 

He needed actual guidance. 

Father Laurence closed the door, waving at a lingering couple, before turning to Cas with a wide grin on his face. 

“Well I haven’t seen you in quite a while, son. How are you?” 

Cas smiled, “I’m good, Father, thank you?”

“Okay—before we go continue, there’s no need to call me Father or any of that mess,” Father Laurence—Joshua—said, waving his hand and leading Cas back down the aisle. “Makes me sound old and crusty.”

They both laughed at that and Cas followed Joshua into the back office. 

“What can I help you with, Cas?” Joshua asked, removing his cassock and hanging it up next to his desk. 

“I’d like to go to confession,” Cas stated. Joshua narrowed his eyes.

“Do you want to go to confession, or do you just need to talk?” 

Cas paused. 

“Can we just talk?”

“Absolutely. I’ll go make some tea.”

They sat at a small round table on the other side of the desk with their mugs on coasters, Cas not knowing where to start

“What’s been troubling you?” Joshua eventually prompted, voice quiet and gentle and exactly what Cas needed. 

He had always found comfort in Joshua when he was younger. On the weeks Cas had come home from school for vacation, he’d load Joshua up with all his problems that the rest of his family didn’t want to hear about. Cas hadn’t been home once since starting college, and now had seven years worth of problems to dump on the poor man. 

But, Joshua was more of a father than Cas’s own father who, at some point during his college career, left entirely.

“I’ve found myself in a… predicament,” Cas started. 

Joshua said nothing, taking a sip of tea and waiting patiently for more details. 

Cas took a deep breath, trying to figure out where to begin.

He started with his sexual orientation realization in college since most of his current problems stemmed from that. Joshua listened, nodding along and sometimes patting Cas’s hand when he had to pause to collect himself, especially when he got to the part he realized he couldn’t continue on his path to priesthood.

“That’s why I’m back here—and I honestly wish I didn’t come back at all. But I couldn’t stay there,” Cas finished.

“Well, Cas, you know I don’t like cliches, but things do happen for a reason. I’m sad to hear you feel like you lost your path but I’m not sad that you’re back here,” Joshua said after a moment. “I’m sure you can still do good while in Worthington until you can point yourself in a direction that best suits you.”

Cas sighed and looked down at the floor. College was only part one of his issues.

“I don’t feel like I can do much good while I’m here.” 

“Why’s that?” 

Cas bit the inside of his cheek and glanced at Joshua. Priests couldn’t divulge things said under confession unless a serious crime had been committed, Cas still hesitated. 

Then he realized how absurd it was that he told Dean everything while sitting in lawn chairs next to a bonfire with several drinks in him, but couldn’t tell a priest.

Though, a lot more truth had come to light since that initial talk. When he and Dean spoke, all Cas knew was what Michael told him. He didn’t know what Michael had been hiding. 

“Michael seems to want—” Cas cleared his throat, still staring at the ground. “He wants me to get married to a nice young woman, and by wants I mean… he’s basically forcing me to do it. He told me the second day I was back.”

Father Jacob said nothing, and sat waiting for Cas to explain. 

Cas resumed picking at his thumb as he told Joshua everything Gabriel told him the other night.

“Michael expects me to propose to Hannah by the end of next month,” Cas finished, thumb almost bleeding at that point.

“Why so soon?” Joshua asked, a frown now on his face and brows furrowed.

“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me.”

Joshua squinted, suspicious, “You’re not telling the whole story.”

Cas sighed and looked at the table, realizing he hadn’t touched his tea since he started talking. 

“There’s a guy,” Cas mumbled, unsure if where he wanted to go would be comfortable for Joshua. 

Joshua hummed and leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“That seems woefully inappropriate of Michael. He of all people should know that matrimony belongs only to those who are truly in love given his divorce. Does he know about your—?”

Cas shook his head.

“Tell me more about this man.”

Raising his gaze to Joshua, Cas felt the dread building inside him.

“His name is Dean. He’s the one Michael’s trying to run out of town.”

Joshua’s mouth fell open into a little “Oh” as he nodded in understanding, looking away from Cas. 

Cas continued, just to get it all out of him.

“So now I’m being used by my brother for a power grab that he doesn’t need and to evict someone from their home over a petty family feud that is so old, it can’t possibly make sense anymore.”

“Have you and Dean—“

“I met him at the party when I came home. Then he invited me to a cookout, and we talked, a lot, that’s when I—please don’t tell anyone I told you he likes—” Cas said suddenly, knowing Joshua wouldn’t but just in case. 

“The only person who hears what I hear is God,” he said. 

Cas nodded, allowing the words to then continue tumbling out of him:

“That’s when I told _him_ about Michael and that plan he had for me, but I didn’t know what I know now. I went to Kansas City for—just to get out of town for a while but he was also there. We hung out for the night but I couldn’t look at him in the eye,” Cas paused and took a sip of tea just to give himself a break. It was ice cold. “All day Saturday I debated on whether to call him and tell him everything but I don’t want him to—I just wish I never—”

Cas couldn’t continue. 

“What? Spoken with Dean? Went out with him that night?” Joshua provided.

Cas wanted to say no, because he couldn’t imagine what his life over the last few weeks would have been like _without_ meeting Dean, but—

“Yes. But the first time we met, he didn’t know who I was and I didn’t know about any of this so I couldn’t—”

Joshua smiled and leaned forward, patting Cas on his hands.

“That’s the key right there. Forget your brother, forget this horrible arranged marriage situation which, I wish I was in a position of power to stop—how do you really feel about this boy? How did you feel about him before Friday night?”

Cas thought back to their first meeting in the kitchen, how animated Dean was in talking about his stories, his face while listening to Cas talk—they were comfortable within the first minutes of knowing each other. That had never happened to Cas with anyone he had ever met in his life. The cookout spoke for itself. Cas, only the second time being around Dean, felt comfortable enough to tell him all the secrets he hid from the rest of the world.

“I like him,” Cas eventually said, “I like how easy it is to talk to him. And the other night after we got home, he actually snuck into my backyard just to return my wallet. I thought that was...kind of him.”

“So, you really like him?” Joshua asked.

What Cas kept from Joshua and would never tell him was that Friday evening when Cas couldn’t help but stare at every inch of Dean’s photo, or when they were leaving and came across the scene in the alleyway,a scene that still snuck up on Cas when he let his guard down. He didn’t tell Joshua that for the last 36 hours he had been replaying that scene over and over in his head, replacing strangers with Dean.

Cas decided that night after Dean tossed him his wallet and suggested they have another night together, that he wasn’t just attracted to Dean because he was the first guy Cas stumbled onto in town that also had an attraction to other men. It wasn’t the availability.

Cas liked him because he liked him.

Joshua smiled at Cas’s silence and sat back in his chair.

“Listen—your family and the Winchesters have a long, long history, most of which you were not here for. It’s unfortunate that you didn’t know the extent of it all until just recently after you already started this journey with Dean, but you can’t let that change how you feel right now,”

Cas frowned, “But how—“

“I don’t know how, but I will help you in any way I can. This… thing between your family and his can not get in the way of what sounds like a special thing. It’s not often I hear people talk about others like this, even after knowing them for years,” Joshua explained, “And if you do let it get in the way, then the only people who will suffer will be this poor girl, Dean, and yourself.

Cas absorbed the words but couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He couldn’t think.

“God wants us to love,” Joshua said, serious as can be. “Your family, God bless them, doesn’t allow love into their lives. You don’t have to be like them.”

 _Love_ , Cas’s thoughts stopped on that word. It sounded so foreign, and too soon to use it. Way too soon.

“I don’t know what Michael will do to Dean or the Grays if I’m not there,” Cas said, his biggest fear now out in the open.

Joshua frowned again.

“Cas, look at me.”

Cas did. 

“That is _not_ your responsibility. None of this is your responsibility,” Joshua insisted, “The heart wants what the heart wants, and if you have a genuine connection with this young man then it’s your responsibility to God to follow through with it. Don’t hold back.”

Joshua’s words echoed in Cas’s head, rolling around and finding a rhythm, demanding to become a cadence. 

_The heart wants what the heart wants._

_Don’t hold back._

Joshua smiled as he gathered up the mugs.

“God’s word is higher than Michael’s, Cas. He’s who you have to listen to.”

The walk home from St. Paul’s was just what Cas needed. 

The day was unseasonably cloud and cool, keeping Cas comfortable as he thought about what Joshua said.

_God’s word is higher than Michael’s. He’s who you have to listen to._

_Don’t hold back._

The words pushed through the noise in Cas’s head that prevented the permission needed to explore what needed exploring. 

Pushing everything aside, pretending he was a normal man in a normal situation, the fact was that Cas really liked Dean, and was certain Dean returned that feeling to some degree. 

Why else would Dean sneak into hostile territory in the middle of the night just to return Cas’s wallet? Why else would Dean make Cas the first person he told a deep, deep secret to? Why would Dean continue to contact him day after day even after knowing who Cas was and where he came from?

Why else did they both freeze up after seeing that scene in the alleyway?

The problem of Hannah, the proposal, and Michael would sort itself out, Cas told himself over and over as he walked.

He had a month to figure it out.

The first thing he needed confirmation on was where he and Dean stood. 

Dean had to give in to himself that Friday night. 

The adrenaline wouldn’t leave him, and all he kept thinking about was that damn blow job orgy, and how he got Cas to smile, and that soft laugh that he desperately needed to hear again. Those images and sounds mixed with how good Dean thought Cas looked at the cookout, from their easy conversations, from Cas highlighted head to toe in rainbow light—

Dean didn’t know when it happened, how it happened, and didn’t care in that moment how fast it happened—he really did like Cas and very much needed something more to happen. 

The fact he got to that point in a three week time period didn’t stun Dean all that much. It’s happened before. The only difference this time was that Cas wasn’t a woman, but why did that matter?

Everything Dean felt was the same.

He knew it was a fault—he knew he had the tendency to fall too hard too fast sometimes, but as he drove home Friday night, Dean didn’t care all that much. 

Instinct alone told him Cas was not the kind of guy to throw that kind of thing back in Dean’s face, even if he didn’t feel the same way. 

But Dean had a sneaking suspicion that Cas did. 

They were both curious.

As soon as Dean walked through the door he’d tried taking a cold shower to calm himself down, but that hadn’t worked one bit. In fact, it just amped him up even more. Giving up, and so as not to waste water, he’d thrown the shower off, grabbed a towel, and gone to his bedroom. 

He hadn’t needed to take care of business on his own for a while, but the routine always stayed the same. Music cranked, fan going—sometimes all the lights stayed on, and sometimes not; it depended on the mood, depended on his level of need. 

That night, Dean kept all the lights on. He kept thinking about those men out in the open, completely exposed and uncaring whoever saw them. 

He wanted that feeling. Everything had been bottled up for so long and it didn’t have to be anymore.

Videos and photos were not needed that night. Dean settled down, the music pumping through the room like he was back in that club. The images were pre-loaded. A small voice asked him if it was right to whack one off while using the image of someone who may or may not return his same level of feelings—but he ignored it. The train had already left the station.

Dean’s imagination, uncontrolled at that point, placed him on that asphalt, rocks digging into his knees, while he held Cas’s hips firm against the brick wall of the building. Dean was in control of the speed. Cas’s hands rested on Dean’s head but weren’t doing much because Dean was exploring all on his own. However, every so often, his fists would tighten in Dean’s hair, applying that pressure that just made him want to try harder, faster—

Next came the sounds. Even if he didn’t have them seared into his head from that night, there were others he could tap into, especially from Cas himself. A sigh; Dean’s name spoken softly, just to say it; a gentle laugh maybe out of nervousness or maybe with Dean circling his thumbs where he held Cas’s hips hit a sensitive spot—

Dean’s imagination, carrying already so close to the edge in what had to be the shortest time on record, suddenly threw on the brakes and offered Dean something new.

A nondescript bed in a nondescript room with Cas there, just waiting and watching. No action yet, just watching as if he were in Dean’s bedroom at that current moment, watching him touch himself under the bright lights, exposed just like Dean wanted.

Dean couldn’t place specific words Cas said to him in this nondescript room on the nondescript bed, but Dean’s imagination filled in the blanks. It was seeing a well put together Catholic man, business casual at all times, watching him with dark eyes and encouraging filthy actions, that finally pushed Dean over the line.

He pressed his forehead into his pillow and squeezed his eyes shut, wishing more than anything, right there and then, that there was something more than just his own hand on him. He didn’t just want more, he _needed more_.

And just like that, it was over. The rush dissolved, and Dean was alone, in his room, trying to catch his breath. 

His phone buzzed just as he decided to take another shower. With great effort, Dean rolled over to pick it up off his bed stand.

12:34 a.m.

_Thank you_

Still breathless, Dean typed back it was no problem. He misjudged where his thumb went and accidentally scrolled up, displaying extra photos he didn’t remember sending Cas.

One was him flipping the camera off after he took a shitter off the board, but the other one, the last one sent, was of Dean laying on his back at the lake with the hat over his head, just after he—

Dean swore and sat up in bed, wincing at the discomfort. The picture had been taken just after Dean slipped into a brief nap, just after he divulged to Benny and Lee that he had a thing, a hesitant focus on Cas.

He opened up a group chat, about to yell at whichever one of them sent the photo, but stopped. He swiped back to the text log with Cas, looking at the photo again. With the angle it had been taken at, with his shorts and his leg up—Dean had seen photos like these before, but usually had to pay for them and the person in them had _no_ clothing on.

And Cas got this photo before the club and said nothing.

But he did become more and more withdrawn.

Dean smiled and decided not to yell at Benny and Lee after all. 

The odds of him being correct in guessing Cas matched his level of interest increased. 

The whole weekend passed without another frenzied handjob-a-thon, but also with no texts from Cas, which for Dean, was probably a necessary thing. 

The guilt over Friday night began Saturday morning and plagued Dean throughout the day. Chores sat unfinished as Dean chose to spend hours scrolling his phone on the couch with random ‘80s movies playing on cable for background noise. Dean called the day a was at two in the afternoon when he resorted to a microwaved lunch.

Lack of activity led to little sleep that night and he woke at 5 a.m. Sunday morning, restless and thinking too much as he stared at his ceiling fan. 

He was sure that their friendship had extended into something a little more—but Dean had never been in this position before. He’d had crushes on guys, but ones that he knew were staunchly straight and didn’t actually need to put any thought or effort into it, knowing it’d be useless (or dangerous). 

This time, it was possible to maybe push a little forward and see where exactly he and Cas stood. 

The question that remained was how to approached the subject.

Dean didn’t want to do it over text message, he knew that much. It wasn’t high school; there were no more “do you like me? y/n?” messages.

Dean spent most of the morning trying to figure how he’d go about things, still without a plan, and wondered if he would just wing it when his phone rang. 

It was Cas. 

Dean launched himself off the couch, slightly panicked. He still had no plan. 

“Hello?”

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey—what’s up?” 

Cas sounded serious and Dean worried it was another Hannah thing—the absolute worst buzzkill he did not need that day.

“What time do you usually go to work in the morning?” 

“Uh—about seven. Why?” 

“Well, I was thinking about going back to that club tonight and didn’t know if you wanted to join me. But if your schedule doesn’t—“

“No, wait—“ Dean cut Cas off, his brain trying to catch up to what just happened. Cas sounded much more confident than he did two days ago.

And he wanted to go back to the club? Dean assumed Cas hated the place after the other night.

“You didn’t seem to enjoy the place last night,” Dean said, taking slow laps around his kitchen just to move around.

“Yeah, well—“ Cas paused, “I had an off day. But I wouldn’t mind just going out and doing something tonight.”

This person didn’t sound like Cas, and after first throwing Dean off, it then rose his excitement level. 

It was a casual kind of confidence that was far from the soft but formal-spoken Cas or the silent Cas who clearly had a lot to say but didn’t know how to say it. 

“Yeah, no—yeah. I’ll go. I can ask to come in later tomorrow—or just call out sick,” Dean said, squeezing his eyes shut to try and block out those images his brain had crafted Friday night. Not right now. Not on the phone.

“Alright, sounds good. I’ll drive this time. I can pick you up around eight.”

“O-okay. See you then,” Dean said, still trying to play catch up.

Cas hung up first, and Dean stood there with the phone to his ear for a few more moments before everything settled into place.

Was this an official date? 

Did Dean just get asked out on a date?

Or, was this a casual—

No, it wasn’t casual. Dean remembered how it was in that club—bodies pressed together, moving together, everyone eying each other like they were a prize to bring home to bed. 

There was the alleyway that would lead to that back room, where men were nestled against other men with noises of pleasure echoing against the brick walls—

 _It’s not casual_.

This is Cas asking him a question.


	10. Ten

Each and every seed of doubt tried its hardest to convince Cas to cancel the plans and just stay home. 

What didn’t help was that he had a lunch date with Hannah that afternoon after he walked home from church, agitating him more. 

He texted Dean a few times at the restaurant while Hannah went to the bathroom or when she just wasn’t looking, but Cas restricted the conversation to be just about what to wear so they didn’t stick out that night.

12:12 p.m.

**If you just have a black t-shirt and a pair of jeans, that’s fine**

12:22 p.m.

_I don’t have t-shirts. I do have a pair of jeans though. What about shoes?_

12:25 p.m.

**You can borrow one of my shirts if you want. I think it’ll fit. And idk man. I was just going to wear boots bc sneakers seem… dumb.**

Cas had sighed, trying to remember what exactly he had as shoe options. He didn’t have a diverse wardrobe. 

12:27 p.m.

_Unsure what I have in my closet. I’ll take you up on the shirt offer. I don’t want to look like someone’s father._

12:28 p.m.

**Well you never know, some people may be into that ;)**

Cas pocketed his phone as Hannah returned and they ate their meal in almost silence except to talk about the weather and what Hannah did at her job that week. 

Cas showed up at Dean’s precisely at 8 p.m. after what was possibly the longest afternoon of his life. 

Dean waited on his front doorstep and shot to his feet as soon as Cas pulled into the driveway, looking just as nervous as Cas felt. He had a dark-colored shirt draped over his arm while he himself wore a black one. They would still look simple in comparison to some of the other club goers, but at least better than two nights ago. 

Climbing into the car, he mumbled a “hey” and handed Cas the shirt. 

Impulse and inspiration took over Cas almost instantly. Without giving himself a moment to think, he unbuttoned his polo at the neck and pulled it off. Cas didn’t need to look over to Dean to know where his eyes were. He put the shirt on, ignoring the sudden mood shift in the car. 

Clearing his throat, Cas tossed his other shirt into the backseat and turned to Dean. 

“Thank you for that,” Cas said with a smile, trying not to laugh at Dean’s expression as he put the car in gear and backed down the driveway.

The ride to Kansas City mimicked the tension of the ride back Friday night.

Except this time, Dean had a good idea where the night would end.

Dean knew that stunt Cas did, having done it himself a few times with others. It was a make-believe casual gesture that usually men wouldn’t think twice about. You’re just changing a shirt. 

But in these instances, they want you to see. 

And Dean wanted to see more, knowing full well that was Cas’s intention.

He bit the inside of his cheek and eventually looked the other way out his passenger window as the sun dipped below the horizon.

The club hosted one of their drag nights on Sundays and had a generous drink special.

Dean and Cas decided to stay at the bar closer to the door that night. They didn’t need to talk about it, they just knew why. 

Dean estimated they were there for ten minutes before Cas leaned back on his stool, resting against the counter, and watching the performers. He looked more at ease this night, and wasn’t sipping on any neon blue drink, instead opting for a plain cranberry and vodka. 

Dean smiled as he too turned around and mimicked Cas’s position. 

And the waiting game continued; who would give in first?

They sat in silence for nearly a half-hour, watching queen after queen dance and perform, bending down occasionally to allow a patron to stuff some bills into the top of their dress. Needing a break from their unbearable game of chicken, Dean at one point left his seat to hand a $20 to a busty blonde who rewarded him with a kiss on the cheek, prompting cheers from the crowd. When he pushed back through the crowd, back to the bar, he flashed a grin to Cas who appeared annoyed, almost jealous.

Dean felt a shiver run through him as he swung around, asking for a refill. Cas stayed completely still.

They stayed watching the stage for another ten minutes before Cas turned back around for another refill as well. The bartender was father down the counter and Cas leaned over, pressing against Dean’s side to slide the glass over. He lingered there for longer than he needed, saying his thanks. Warmth spread throughout Dean as his heart leaped into his throat. 

He had it. 

As Cas sat down, Dean leaned in, keeping his eyes on the stage.

“How long are we going to do this?” he asked, voice quiet as the music paused for the next performer.

Cas took a moment before smiling, nice and smug, turning his head. They were now inches apart and Dean noted it wouldn’t take any effort to just lean forward—

“Should we finish our drinks first?” Cas asked, glancing at Dean’s still almost full glass. 

Dean didn’t look at it or Cas’s. 

“I think you know that answer already,” Dean answered, looking Cas directly in the eyes, trying to see if there was any hesitancy on his part. 

There wasn’t. The guy didn’t even blink.

“Where?” 

“There’s a motel a few blocks over,” Dean said, glancing at the stage as the final act came out. “It didn’t look too bad. We can walk there.”

Cas only needed a moment to think about it before standing, pulled out his wallet, and threw some dollar bills down on the table. 

Dean slid off his seat as well, adrenaline kicking up. He followed Cas out the door. Their journey wouldn’t take them past the alleyway, which Dean knew if they did, he probably wouldn’t make it to the motel. If he even looked—or even heard something, he’d break.

Dean didn’t remember much from the walk over, only that he and Cas knew not to stand right next to each other, and checking in with an unfazed clerk who was no doubt used to couples coming in from the club to stay the night. 

Their room stood at the end of the hallway on the second floor. They stayed on opposite sides of the elevator, saying nothing, and as they walked down a silent hallway, Dean wondered if the clerk gave them the room on purpose. No one seemed to be at their end of the building.

Dean couldn’t get the key card in thanks to his unsteady hand, so Cas gently took it from him, slid it in, and opened the door. 

The room was nothing more than a box with the air conditioning turned on low. It had a shower, one bed, one TV, and the blinds drawn to filter the streetlights from outside.

It was compact, safe, and secure. 

The door closed behind him and Dean turned around, seeing Cas hesitate in the doorway. All the pent up energy since Friday waited for Dean’s signal, ready to rush out of the gate. 

Out of the two of them, only he had any kind of experience when it came to this, and it was only with women. Dean didn’t think the rules would be much different but—

Dean closed the distance between them and crowded into Cas’s space, pressing him up against the door.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Cas confessed, staring at Dean’s mouth.

“I got enough experience to get us to a certain point,” Dean said, “And then we can just figure it out together.”

In that room, in the half-second between Dean’s words and what was about to happen, a shot of panic sprang into his head. It wasn’t fear over doing something wrong, or fumbling something else, or sounding like an idiot—it was Dean’s moment of clarity sending a reminder about who exactly it was in front of him. 

If things went wrong, if they slipped and Michael found out, the repercussions could be—would be—severe. 

But Cas shifted against him impatiently, bringing Dean back to reality, eager and wanting something to happen. Dean hesitated for another moment to see if the fear would return, not wanting it to pop back into his head at the worst time.

It didn’t.

“I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Okay,” Cas answered, voice quiet and shaky with nerves.

Dean didn’t close his eyes, but Cas did. 

He had to witness it. 

The first pass was delicate, almost barely there as they _just_ grazed each other, making Dean’s lips buzz. He reminded himself that it was most likely Cas’s first kiss, and in a way, it was his own too, at least with another guy. He didn’t know what to expect, but forced himself to take it slow, just to explore. 

They first had to get to know each other.

Cas seemingly agreed, not trying to push forward for more. He did relax a little more against the door and Dean smiled against Cas’s mouth before pulling away.

They were quiet for only a moment before Cas whispered, “I want more.”

Those three little words sealed the deal as Dean fully pressed against Cas as they blew right past any additional tentative, explorative kisses and allowed their pent-up desperation take over. 

As far as Dean was concerned, and as far as he could compare, it already surpassed any level of pure want he had for someone in quite some time, if not ever. Those just felt like the honorary first step that traditionally always happened in relationships. 

This was different. 

This was permission.

This was the green light—truly the beginning of a journey that had started at a kitchen table only weeks ago, completely by accident.

Dean felt cool hands slide under his t-shirt and rest on his waist, triggering a wave of goosebumps. He gasped and Cas let out a soft laugh, almost like the one from the other night. 

As Dean deepened the kiss, Cas’s hands traveled up to rest Dean’s back, leaving some exposed skin, hot and sensitive, to chill in the air-conditioned room. 

This time Dean had to break away, needing air. He didn’t move far, staying pressed against Cas, feeling him try to catch his breath as well. 

Not giving them more than a moment to collect themselves, Dean moved in, mouthing Cas’s jaw, under his ear, and down to his neck. 

The single hottest thing Dean had experienced during any sexual encounter at any point in his life was feeling Cas’s pulse with his mouth. He stayed in that spot, keeping the pressure as Cas tried to steady his breathing. 

To counter Dean’s actions, Cas experimented with shifting his hips by only a fraction of an inch. Dean didn’t realize how pressed together they were until then. He also didn’t realize how hard they already were. 

_We aren’t gonna last long_ , Dean thought to himself, as he grazed his teeth over a lower part of Cas’s neck he hoped could be covered by a high collar shirt. Cas submitted to Dean and tilted his head to the side, granting him more access. 

They had to get their rocks off, fast. There was no point in trying to prolong it, Dean concluded as Cas continued to move against him in small, teasing increments.

After the first go, they’d be in a better position to explore each other but right then, they had to get the first round out of the way.

With great effort, Dean forced himself to pull away and pressed his foreheads against Cas’s.

“Have you ever done anything before? Even with a girl?” Dean asked, just to be sure.

“No,” Cas answered, Dean pleased to hear his voice waver a little as he slipped his fingers between Cas’s hip and the waistband of his jeans. “But I know you have.”

Dean shook his head and ran his fingers back and forth. He pulled away to look down at what he was doing, “Not with another guy.”

“Oh,” was all Cas said as his mouth brushed Dean’s ear, causing Dean to shiver. He took a moment to gather himself, hands moving toward the button on Cas’s jeans. 

“We don’t have to do anything we’re not comfortable with.”

“I don’t know what I’m comfortable with yet.”

Dean pulled away more now to look Cas straight in the eyes, “I don’t either. We can take it slow—you sure you still want this?”

They already crossed the line a mile back, but now they officially were heading into the unknown. Dean didn’t want to push Cas to that place if there were doubts.

But after a brief pause, Cas’s gaze softened and a small smile emerged, “Yes I do.” A pause. “You?”

Dean thought back to Friday night, thought back to the text messages, to the bonfire, to their first meeting—every laugh, every smile, every nervous confession, every hesitant glance at each other—

“I can’t even begin to describe how much,” Dean answered.

Cas hesitated before he nudged Dean a little, causing him to take a step back. Instead of going straight for Dean, or his clothes, Cas reached past them both and shut the large lights in the room off, leaving only those by the bed on. It was a stark contrast to Dean’s environment Friday night when he wanted to feel as exposed as those men and to feel that same kind of raw energy that motivated them.

But this was different. This wasn’t carnal. Now, the spotlight on them was gone, allowing them to truly feel secluded and safe. Only they could see each other in these vulnerable moments, unjudged and unrestrained. 

“Setting the mood?” he asked as Cas moved over to the desk and kicked off his shoes. He glanced over at Dean, and Dean could still see the nerves in his eyes. Cas looked more confident than before, but Dean knew that look. It was the “what if” look. 

What if I fuck it up?

What if I go too far?

What if I’m not good enough?

Without another word, Dean pulled his shirt off over his head, tossed it onto the desk next to where Cas stood and headed to the bed. 

The silence threw him off, but Dean didn’t want to turn the TV on. Nothing less sexy than medicare commercials when you’re in the middle of it all. 

But as Dean sat on the bed, a loud, bassy thumping came from some other room nearby. They weren’t alone at this end of the building but whoever their neighbors were wouldn’t hear Dean and Cas over the music. It wasn’t loud, but it provided some rattling inside Dean and filled the silence between them. 

Dean cleared his throat and sat down on the bed, reclining back on his elbows.

“I’m not doing any of this standing up so you’re gonna have to come over here,” he teased. He desperately wanted out of his jeans but he wasn’t going to do it himself. Cas had to learn things.

Cas didn’t hesitate this time, also pulling the t-shirt off, laying it next to Dean’s, and headed over to him on the bed. 

The music played on.

It took almost no time for the rest of their clothing to wind up on the floor. Cas had particularly enjoyed slowly easing down Dean’s jeans, taking his time, and smirking when Dean cursed. 

They shoved the bedspread to the side, as well as the sheets as Dean moved up against the pillows. Nerves surged in him as inspiration struck. Cas watched as Dean spread his legs slightly, bending one up. No hat, no shorts—full view this time.

Cas narrowed his eyes, staying where he was at the end of the bed. 

“You _did_ send me that picture on purpose.”

Dean laughed, “I didn’t. It was one of the goons I’m friends with, but I’m not mad they did it.”

Cas sighed and finally, _finally_ moved. 

“I have a confession,” he said, sounding like he should be guilty of something but the hungry expression on his face gave that play away.

“I’m all ears,” Dean smiled, but also hoping the conversation wouldn’t last too long. He needed Cas on top of him before he took care of business himself again. 

“The photo—,” Cas cleared his throat, “I really liked that photo.”

Dean grinned, pulling up his other leg and being his knee. 

“Did it do anything for you?” Dean teased, smirking and arching his back just a little bit. He could practically see the fire burst in Cas’s eyes. The answer was obvious.

Cas leaned forward between Dean’s legs and held himself just above him, moving his mouth over to Dean’s ear.

“I can’t even begin to describe how much.”

That broke the dam. It unleashed everything that had been barely hanging by a thread to begin with. 

Dean immediately shimmied further down the pillows almost as soon as the words left Cas’s mouth. Like someone flipped a switch, Cas went from nervous virgin to confident and eager. Cas moved over Dean and then lowered himself, finally allowing fire to meet fire.

Dean’s brain short-circuited as his legs automatically tightened to keep Cas there should he have any ideas of leaving. They moved together, synced almost perfectly with the rhythm of the music. Despite wanting to watch everything, take the whole experience in, and sear it into his brain, had to close his eyes as he felt electricity pulse up and down him with every small slide, or grind, or even just a small shift of the hips from Cas to get a better angle. 

It was absolutely nothing like he ever experienced. 

The friction alone sent Dean into the stratosphere, but for someone without experience, Cas had a natural instinct on what to do. Every time Dean tried to push up, Cas countered and pushed back down, moving in waves with the music, and eventually, their own breathing. 

Along with the music, Cas treated Dean to an assortment of sounds that Dean never even heard in porn. It wouldn’t be something a microphone could pick up; they were gasps and soft murmurings of encouragement meant to only be heard by the other person. They were gifts only in that moment, not meant to be shared. 

But Dean never heard anything like this before. He couldn’t place a time where he and anyone else exchanged breathy conversations, one or two-word responses to inquisitive noises—

_Are you good?_

_Did you like that?_

_Do you want me to do it again?_

Each choked off moan or gasp drove Dean closer and closer; he could feel that tension reaching its limits. Dean was so close, very close, and judging by Cas, who was beginning to move off rhythm, he was close too. Which was fine. They had all night to go again, and again, and—

Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, Cas pushed himself up and off of Dean, leaving him blanketed with cold hotel room air. Confusion took over as Dean tried to regain focus. 

“What?” Dean asked, hands on Cas’s hips which were just too damn far from his own—

“Sit up a little more, I want to try something,” Cas replied, moving farther away. Dean obeyed, trying to find that heat again. Cas moved back in between Dean’s legs but didn’t move to press against him. 

Instead, Cas wrapped his hand around both of them, pressing them together in a way that moving against each other just couldn’t accomplish. Cas’s hand was dry but it didn’t matter at that point. Dean wanted to close his eyes again but they both couldn’t stop watching as Cas continued to move his hand up and down, in minute movements that didn’t look like much, but Christ—

Dean could definitely feel it. 

Cas ran a thumb, the only truly free finger on his hand, all over, pressing down in some areas more than others. When he dragged it over the top, Dean snapped right back to where he was before Cas had lifted off of him.

Dean, with two free hands, cupped either side of Cas’s face, drawing him in for another kiss that was less desperate, less uncontrolled, but more of a lazy, drawn-out promise that said, _We’re definitely doing this again_.

What eventually did Dean in was him deciding to experiment, running just one finger over Cas, both of them highly sensitive at this point, and hearing a soft “Fuck” coming from that mouth. 

That pushed Dean over the edge, almost painfully, with a sharp inhale and then a deep groan as he forced himself to keep his eyes open, watching. Cas came half a second after, gasping for air. He closed his eyes for just a moment before trying to keep them open as well, both mesmerized by the scene.

Cas didn’t let go, not right away, making sure the job was truly done. A dull ringing filled Dean’s ears as he relaxed back against the pillows, watching Cas’s face now instead of his hand.

But as Cas unhanded them and made to get off the bed, Dean locked him between his legs.

“Wait.”

Cas frowned, confused before Dean grabbed his hand and brought it to his mouth. Dean now closed his eyes as he rang a tongue over Cas’s palm, then taking each finger one by one into his mouth, doing a thorough job of cleaning each one the best he could. Out of the things that worried Dean the most when thinking about blow jobs was what it would taste like. But it tasted fine, and Dean’s mind already started to calculate when he’d be able to do the real thing.

“Jesus—” was all Cas managed to say, voice strained. 

Dean let Cas’s hand go, settling back to where he was, grinning.

“Don’t take the lord’s name in vain or whatever,” he said.

Cas rolled his eyes and moved to settle against Dean. They laid there, close together, lazy kiss after lazy kiss, listening to the music as they waited for round two.

Gray sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains the following morning. The room took its time to brighten, allowing its occupants to snooze for a couple of extra hours.

Cas wasn’t completely asleep, only dozing or staring at the ceiling while his eyes weren’t closed. He didn’t want to look at the person next to him because he knew once he did, the dream would shatter and he’d wind up waking up in his own bedroom.

It took Cas several minutes when he first woke up to remember where he was. The sun had hardly risen at that time, and nothing looked familiar. He felt weighed down on the mattress and was confused for only a moment before he realized Dean must be resting on part of him. 

A consistent ache ran throughout Cas, and in his haze of half-conscience confusion, he had to replay the night’s events back in his head a few times to get it right. Each time more and more detailed and also unbelievable.

Cas thought he knew what to expect, he’s watched enough videos read some articles back in college; thought he knew what it’d feel like or sound like. 

He couldn’t have been more off the mark. 

Another thing he underestimated, or couldn’t predict accurately, were the overwhelming emotions that came along with it all. He knew it would feel good, that was a given, and they barely scratched the surface of what’s possible—but what Cas felt ran deep, beyond _This feels good_.

The worst thing about it was that Cas couldn’t give those emotions a name. He didn’t know what to call them. But every time he heard Dean gasp, whisper how good it felt, try to catch the whine in his throat, it pulled Cas further and further into their world, completely forgetting about everyone and everything, else.

“Y’good?” 

Dean’s muffled voice in Cas’s ear pulled his attention back off the meandering path it had been traveling on. This time, Cas did turn his head and look at Dean.

Dean’s head rested halfway under the pillow, facing Cas, eyes still closed. He laid on his front with the sheets pushed down just enough to uncover his shoulders. Despite the coolness of the room, he still radiated warmth.

“Yes, I am—are you?” Cas asked, already knowing the answer. If Dean wasn’t “good” he wouldn’t have been there, half on top of him and trying to shift even closer.

“I can’t move,” Dean groaned, “I’m getting old.”

“Twenty four isn’t old,” Cas said, keeping his voice quiet.

Dean opened one eye to glare at Cas from under the pillow before turning his head away. Cas smiled but didn’t move closer. He had never done this before and didn’t know how a “morning after” went.

After a moment, Dean turned his head back, both eyes now open.

“You sleep okay?” 

Cas nodded, “Yeah. You?”

Dean nodded as well but didn’t say anything at first. Another moment passed before he sighed, moving off of Cas and out from under the pillow to rest on his back. Cas missed the pressure and warmth immediately.

“I’m not good at this,” Dean mumbled, staring at the ceiling. 

“I don’t have anyone to compare you against but I think you were plenty good,” Cas replied.

The comment rewarded Cas with a small smile from Dean who glanced over before staring back at the ceiling. 

“Usually I’m gone by now,” Dean said, sounding almost sad. “Usually it’s a quick goodbye, ‘I’ll text you, maybe see you again’. Even other times where I did stay, it didn’t—”

Cas finished Dean’s sentence in his head. 

_It didn’t feel like this_.

The unnamed emotion from the night made a comeback inside Cas as he watched Dean work out the new reality he woke up to.

“You did stay though,” Cas said, “So what do you think that means?”

Cas couldn’t help but hold his breath while he saw Dean work over the meaning of him staying in his head. The hope, the wish, the honest to God prayer going through Cas’s head that they were on the same page surged in him.

Cas had decided, with their first, tentative kiss against the door, where he wanted their relationship to go. But it all rested on Dean’s shoulders as to where they went from there. 

“I think it means we should do this again,” Dean concluded, turning back to Cas, moving closer to kiss him. “And maybe again,” another kiss, “and again,” another one, “and a few more times—”

They lost themselves in the moment and Cas wondered if they really were about to go again. But Dean pulled away eventually, dashing thought.

“I meant to ask this last night but you got me distracted,” Dean said, “How are you so good at this when you’ve never been with anyone?”

Cas smiled.

“You think I was good?”

“Yes, sometimes a little too good,” he answered, turning onto his side with one arm under the pillow. Cas mirrored the position. “How did that happen?”

Cas recalled the videos left on his computer, not touched since he decided to move back to Kansas. Heat flooded his face as sighed.

“I watched… things... sometimes.”

Dean’s eyes widened at first before he smirked, moving his hand up from under the sheet and to Cas’s mouth where he brushed his lower lip with his thumb. 

“You’re turning red, Catholic Man,” Dean teased, keeping his voice hardly above a whisper. 

Cas didn’t respond with words as he drew Dean’s thumb into his mouth. He tried hard not to laugh at Dean’s reaction as he ran his tongue alongside it before tightening his mouth as he drew back slowly, eventually letting Dean free. 

“You’re turning red,” Cas whispered, delighted at how flustered Dean looked.

They stayed in bed for another half hour, not engaging in anything too exhausting but settling for soft kisses and hands wherever they needed to be. They didn’t need music this time, now used to their own sounds and rhythm. It took them only one night to learn how to fit together, and they did so with ease and purpose. 

When they looked at the clock and saw the time, Cas felt the first cracks in their reality begin. They couldn’t stay in bed forever, though Cas gave the thought sincere consideration.

He didn’t want to leave the warmth and security of Dean but forced himself to eventually roll away.

“Now I remember why the morning after sucked,” Cas heard Dean mumble as the bed creaked.

Cas didn’t disagree with that sentiment and felt the cracks deepen. He had what had to have been the best twelve hours of his life, and he hated how fast it was about to be ripped away.

“So what’re you doing today?” Dean asked, keeping his voice light as he headed to the bathroom. 

Cas sighed as he put his wallet back into his pocket as dread quickly replaced bliss.

“I have to go to an afternoon lunch with Hannah, her family and I guess some business associates of theirs,” Cas replied, walking over to the bathroom himself while Dean ran the water. He immediately wished he hadn’t. 

Dean, still sans clothing, stood there patting his face dry. But all the ease he had the night before, or in bed, or even walking into the bathroom all but dissipated as Cas noted the tension in Dean’s shoulders. 

Their reality shattered, ushering in the bleak one they ultimately were returning to.

Dean put the towel back down on the counter but didn’t look up at Cas, trying to hide his frown. 

“Well… that sounds like…” he trailed off, realizing he had nothing else to do at the sink. 

“Dean—”

“—a waste of an afternoon,” Dean finished, looking up at Cas through the mirror, frustration lining his face.

“I don’t disagree,” Cas said, stepping aside as Dean stepped out into the entryway and back into the room, swiping his jeans up off the floor.

An awkwardness settled between them and Cas was inches away from just pushing Dean back into bed and paying for another night. He weighed the options in his head—and ultimately failed to act.

“What does Michael think you’re doing all these times you’ve gone out at night?” Dean finally asked, turning around with his shirt in his hands. Cas wished he’d put it on. It was hard enough having the conversation, even worse seeing what he was walking away from.

“He’s never asked,” Cas answered, forcing himself to look at the ground. “I have hobbies—I go for walks, sometimes I just like driving around—I still have my telescope in—”

“You have a telescope?”

Cas looked back up at Dean who thankfully finished dressing, looking a little less annoyed.

“It was a 21st birthday present from Gabriel. It’s still in my car from the move so, I assume Michael thinks that’s a possibility as well.”

_I should come up with a real story,_ Cas thought as Dean turned to scan the room to see if they were leaving anything behind. Cas glanced at the unmade bed, the lamp whose shade went askew at some point in the night—

Cas walked over and turned the light off as Dean grabbed the keys. They remained silent as they walked to the door, mourning what they were leaving behind. The high from that morning and previous night completely evaporated as Cas reached for the door handle. 

“Hey, wait,” Dean said, grabbing Cas’s other arm, turning him around to push him against the door. He pressed against Cas and kissed him one last time before they headed back out into the world. They weren’t exploring new territory anymore; it wasn’t gentle or explorative, but a firm reminder to Cas that even after they leave that room, what they created wouldn’t truly go away. 


	11. Eleven

Cas had never been more uncomfortable in all his life. 

He had arrived home with an hour to spare and scrambled through his room to find something that would hide the mark that Dean left. Cas didn’t have the wherewithal to complain at the time, but now faced the looming danger of someone looking at him from the right angle and seeing what laid just under his collar. 

He managed to find a higher collared shirt with a casual jacket, already missing the t-shirt as he searched for a tie. It felt like a rope around his neck with someone behind him ready to push.

The discomfort didn’t come in his tie being too tight, or the fact that Cas kept angling himself while speaking with others, leading them to think he had a neck condition. 

It came once Dean began texting him. 

The messages were no longer those of casual conversation or pictures of food or whatever thing Dean was doing at that time. He instead decided to relive their night together in graphic, unrelenting detail which did nothing to help Cas stave off those corresponding images in his head.

Cas eventually had put his phone on vibrate, then silent, as Dean became unrelenting as the hour went on. Hannah stayed too close most of the time, allowing Dean to pile them on, but the times she wandered off to get something to drink or to say hello to a family friend, Cas ducked to the side to see:

_Dean_

Sent an attachment

_Dean_

**I am not gonna apologize for that one**

_Dean_

Sent an attachment

_Dean_

Sent an attachment

_Dean_

**Don’t open those last two near people**

Judging by the texts already sent, Cas had a pretty good idea of what those pictures were. Dean’s warning helped seal that confirmation. The earlier texts were agonizing—

**I want to just barge in and get you out of there**

**I will laugh if you’re reading these out there around those people.**

**I think the lamp gof fuxked up when I had to silence my phone but you just didn’ want to let me go and i was so clos i culdn’t see where i was reaching**

The last text was when Cas had silenced his phone completely before he got in trouble.

After seeing the three photos waiting for him and Dean’s ominous text that followed, Cas finally excused himself to the bathroom. 

Hannah’s house wasn’t nearly as large as Cas’s but he still missed the bathroom twice before finally finding the door. But before he could open it, he heard his name.

Turning, his heart plummeted into the pit of his stomach as he saw Hannah’s uncle coming up to him with a crooked smile.

“Haven’t been able to catch up with you all day kid, what’s been going on?”

Since the moment Cas saw Zachariah watching him pick up Hannah for their first date, he knew something was off about the man. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, which also looked lifeless like he was technically looking at someone or something but wasn’t quite present. Cas had no desire to know what was happening inside Zachariah’s head, especially if it was anything like Michael’s.

Cas took Zachariah’s extended hand and tried a smile. 

“Nothing much sir just had to—you know—” Cas gestured to the bathroom door.

“Well before you go I just wanted to say how happy I am about you and Hannah,” he stated, clapping Cas on the shoulder as another guest walked by them. After they passed, and before Cas could get out of his grasp, Zachariah pulled him into the adjacent tv den, closing the door.

Fear and panic flooded Cas as Zachariah’s face morphed from that unnerving, crooked smile to downright fury. 

He took Cas’s collar and pulled it over, looking at the small bruise Dean left on him.

“I know she didn’t give that to you,” Zachariah hissed, keeping his voice low.

Cas’s brain kicked into hyperdrive, trying to come up with an excuse on the spot that he stupidly didn’t figure out before he came to the party. 

Nothing came to mind. 

“Where did you get it?” Zachariah demanded, trying to prompt Cas. 

_Just say nothing_. 

Frustrated, Zachariah let go of Cas’s shirt with a sneer, pointing his finger in Cas’s face.

“You’re not screwing this up for me, kid. Watch yourself.”

Zachariah stalked out of the room, and back out into the party where people continued their conversations and laughed. 

Heart beating a mile a minute, Cas took a few unsteady steps over to the couch. He collapsed onto it, staring off into space as Zachariah’s threat echoed in his head. 

Somehow, in the driving, drinking at the club, and night with Dean, Cas had forgotten to talk to him about the bigger issue at hand. 

It wasn’t that Cas was being forced into a high society marriage—

He was being used as a weapon against Dean as well. 

_God’s word is higher than Michael’s_

Joshua’s voice tried to cut through the increasing noise in Cas’s head and Cas squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on those few words. 

There were other issues on the horizon, Cas sensed them, but zeroing in on Joshua’s reminder helped steady him slightly. When another surge of panic threatened to throw Cas back off, he began to say the reminder out loud. 

_God’s word is higher than Michael’s._

_The heart wants what the heart wants._

_Don’t hold back._

It took a couple of minutes for his heart to settle down and get his breathing back under control. He pushed everything else aside in his head to keep himself present, in the moment. 

Cas shifted on the couch and took his phone back out, reading through the text messages again, wanting to get some of that happy feeling back. 

In the panic, Cas had forgotten Dean sent him other things as well, and when he opened the chat log, he was greeted by a video, a photo, and another photo. 

Dean did right by warning Cas not to open them, even in secret, around anyone. 

The first photo looked like it was taken accidentally while he was trying to do something else. It showed the fire pit outside, slightly blurred, with the two chairs they sat in the night of the bonfire still in their same positions. That photo brought the beginning of a smile to Cas’s face. 

The next picture, however, dropped it completely.

Dean had set up the timer on his phone and propped it against something in front of the lounge chair he had out in his yard. On the chair, he laid himself out in that exact position that got Cas the first time in that photo at the lake, and the second time on the bed. 

Now, a combination of the two: Dean on his back, with no clothes, but in the sunlight. It was absolutely obscene and Cas didn’t want to look away. 

But he had to. A video was next, the most recent, and Cas held his breath as he tapped it. 

Dean was still outside but the phone now in his hand, closer to him and showing his face which looked a little red. 

“I hope to God you’re not watching this around anyone, and if you are, you have 10 seconds to get to somewhere you’re alone,” Dean warned at the beginning, waiting ten seconds before talking again. “Okay, so—I’m bored, as you can probably tell, and when I’m bored I just can’t turn my brain off it just—keeps going you know?”

Cas sympathized with that. 

“And I can’t stop thinking about last night and I know you can’t either,” Dean continued with a smirk. He shifted the phone to tilt down, showing he still had nothing on while sitting out there. Cas closed his eyes as he took a long, deep breath, again trying to steady himself.

“So hopefully you’re doing okay at that party,” Dean grinned before ending the video. 

Cas glanced at the tv den door before lowering the volume on his phone. He replayed the video again, this time stopping when Dean paned down. Sliding his thumb back and forth on the timeline, the video moved in slow motion, allowing for Cas to get a few frames of the full view. 

Holding his breath, Cas swiped out of the video and onto the previous photo, taking two fingers and enlarging it. 

That unnamed emotion flared back up inside Cas as he looked away from his phone again, pressing a hand down between his legs, he bit his lip hard, trying to distract himself. He couldn’t get aroused at this kind of a party with this particular set of people just on the other side of the wall. 

Cas waited until he couldn’t feel his heart in his throat anymore before he popped open the chatbox.

1:46 p.m.

_You’er a monste_

1:48 p.m.

**Having a problem typing there bud?**

Cas, who already didn’t want to be at the party, suddenly wanted to bust through the window, just to get out of there. Dean sending the photo and video not only brought back reminders of their night, but physical sensations like feeling him move under Cas, or whatever noise he tried to keep to himself, ultimately failing. 

1:50 p.m.

**When’s the next free night you have?**

Cas’s phone buzzed and he brought his eyes back into focus to scroll to the message.

Frowning, he tried to remember if he had any outstanding obligations that week. His teachers, and Michael, always scolded him for neglecting to write things down but Cas could never form the habit, not realizing that years into the future he’d be sitting on a couch in a hostile environment trying to set up a date with a man he wished was writhing underneath him, practically begging for—

1:55 p.m.

_Thursday night I think_

Cas paused, realizing what Dean was asking. 

_Does that work for you?_

1:56 p.m.

**Works great for me, I’m off F. But that’s a long ways away**

Any thoughts of doom and gloom that filled Cas that afternoon was immediately pushed out of his mind as excitement took over. He had to wait a few more days but it gave him something to look forward to. 

1:58 p.m.

_You’ll survive. Bring bug spray._

There were fields all over the outskirts of Worthington and behind, but Cas decided to go for a specific one. 

A lonely barn with a rusted metal roof that looked like it hadn’t been used in years sat about a hundred yards off the road with an equally lonely tree right next to it. Inconspicuous to most who drove by, Cas assured Dean that if someone pulled behind the barn, they wouldn’t be seen by travelers.

Dean had commandeered Benny’s truck for the night (after bribing him with a free dinner and round of drinks) and drove them to their destination for the night. In the cab, fitted with a tall cover, a makeshift bed, the telescope, and a few things to eat or drink if they had the time. 

Judging by how long it took for them to break apart once Cas slid into the truck, Dean didn’t anticipate there being much free time for anything. He had three and a half days to muse on what he wanted to happen that night, finally settling on fulfilling that certain fantasy that refused to vacate his head.

The field and barn took an hour to get to, and there were times Dean wouldn’t see a house for miles, or only see the lights of one way off in the distance, embedded in their own fields of grass or corn.

After their initial greeting, they fell into a comfortable silence with the radio on low volume. No awkwardness, but the closer they got to their destination, the more Dean’s nerves began to eat at him.

They began on Monday morning when they woke up side by side but had been quietly shoved aside to make room for a sense of pride and contentment, along with a general comfort he hadn’t felt in a long while. 

But when Cas dropped him off back home, panic struck hard.

The panic multiplied on itself when Dean tried to distract himself, not understanding what caused the initial spark to begin with. 

To try and capture the sense of excitement and ease of that again, he opted for playing with Cas at that party. Sexting wasn’t a new concept for Dean, but sending photos, and videos, were. 

He almost didn’t do it, the risk was too high. 

But he remembered the laughs, the moans, the smiles, the feeling of hands _everywhere_ , not something he expected from someone new to all of it, and each and every single kiss regardless if it was brief, hardly there, or lasted for as long as they could make it.

Immediately butting up against those memories was the one that came after. Cas’s obligations, his reality, their reality—

That’s when the panic, and some jealousy, settled in again. There were questions Dean couldn’t place proper words to but knew they were there. They stood on the outskirts of his mind, waiting to attack, and Dean didn’t know what to do about it—except hit send on the photo and the video, needing that distraction.

Dean had never felt nervous hooking up with someone for the second or even third time. It was always an easy step-by-step process, and he figured it would be the same with Cas once they got over the initial hurdle of the other night. They’d seen each other, they’d been pressed every which way against each other, heard each other at their most vulnerable moments—they hadn't done everything on the list, but it had really knocked out whatever temporary barrier sat between them. It was easy. 

And multiple hookups happened. Dean reminded himself of that over and over as the week went on.

But Dean also knew the other truth, the other side to that coin, the thing that made the questions lurking around his head perk up. 

They eventually turn into dates and into relationships.

He didn’t know what their plans were until a few hours before they met up. 

Going out into the middle of nowhere to star-gaze with someone wasn’t typical second hook-up behavior.

 _But it’s not a hookup, and you know it’s not a hookup_ , the little voice in the back of Dean’s mind reminded him. 

It was a date. 

Hookups were fun and quick and lasted a night with no real memories. Going to a field to look at stars and sleep in the back of the car together was not a hookup. It wasn’t a quick thing then bing, bang, boom, you’re done. It’s a morning after with no quick escape; it’s a night with no exit plan if you didn’t like the person.

Dean’s mind had wandered to the last time he had anything he could call a date, and it was a week into knowing Cassie and she had invited him to the bar for a drink. The night was fun, and they chatted and smiled and drank a little. It wasn’t anything dramatic or too memorable, but comfortable and expected. 

Sitting in his friend’s truck, driving another man out to a field to play astronomer and then fuck under the stars was _not not not_ expected.

In the deeper part of himself, the one that held things he often wanted to ignore, the shit under lock and key, reminded Dean that in the back of his mind, he knew going into their adventure Sunday night that it wasn’t a normal one-night stand type of deal. 

He had forgotten that little fact until Thursday night when Cas told him what they were doing. 

Several years back, when Dean had to give in to the fact he was both attracted to women and men, he rationalized it by saying the dates would be with woman, and random, one night stands would be with men.

But he hadn’t ever been with a man since Cas—and it was definitely not a one night stand. 

_You’re dumb as fuck_.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Cas suddenly said, making Dean jump back into the present. 

He sighed and tapped his fingers on the wheel.

“You’re gonna need a lot of pennies,” he answered, himself not understanding what was going on in his head.

There was a brief pause.

“I think I can afford it.”

Dean rolled his eyes over to Cas with a small smile before turning his attention back on the road. Almost immediately he slipped back into the ever tumbling thoughts.

The first question finally stepped forward.

_How long are you gonna do this for?_

Dean thought about their conversations, how it felt being around Cas and that night at the hotel—but overshadowing it was the simple fact that Cas was on a path that Dean couldn’t follow. 

And at the end of the day, regardless of how great he was between the sheets, Cas was a Charleston, whether Cas liked it or not—whether Dean wanted to remember it or not.

Charlestons required caution; they required a special kind of walk and talk to not anger them—and if you did—

 _He’s not like that_ —

_Is he though? You don’t know. You haven’t seen him upset, you don’t know what he’ll be like—_

Be honest.

“I don’t want to ruin the mood tonight,” Dean finally said. 

He glanced back over to Cas as he slowed down, nearing a dirt road. Cas had immediately gone from easiness to tense with a frown, eyes downcast at his lap. 

_Shit._

“You didn’t do anything wrong, it’s not about you,” Dean said quietly, tapping him on the leg as he neared the barn. Half true. “Just… life. In general. It’s too heavy for this kind of night.”

Cas said nothing but nodded as Dean parked the truck. 

Dean knew it would all have to come out at some point, they’d have to both confront an ugly truth down the road. 

But not tonight. Not on a—

Date.

Cas knew to keep his mouth shut around thinking people. He found that out in Catholic school at a very young age and at home. It was valuable information that wouldn’t get you in trouble or punished. 

He wasn’t afraid of being in trouble or punished by Dean, but he also didn’t want to disrupt whatever thoughts were running around Dean’s head. It could be any number of things and it was none of Cas’s business unless Dean wanted to share. 

But he took Dean at his word when he said it wasn’t about them, or that he had second thoughts and wanted to turn the truck back around.

The barn itself was an empty shell, clearly not used in a while. The door had been unlocked and when he and Dean investigated to make sure no one had been squatting in there, they only saw a couple of old, abandoned tractors, a workbench, and old, worn-out graffiti. 

They set up their little makeshift camp in silence with only a few directions of “can you hand me that tripod” or “radio on or off?”. They opened the cab and the glass window of the cover, lending them an unobstructed view of the night sky from the bed.

It had been clear to Cas in the truck, and clearer still when they got out and he could see Dean’s face, that he was nervous. Cas found comfort in that, given he hadn’t been able to quiet his nerves for a week. 

There were no distractions or places to hide out in a field, in a truck—no crowds of people, no locked hotel room door with the bass pounding from a nearby room, no friends around to talk to them and interrupt them—

It was just them, a few crickets in the tall grass, and the night sky.

Cas knew what it looked like. 

It was a date. 

He hadn’t been on dates in his life, but he’s seen movies and tv shows, he knew the imagery matched—

Dates, he assumed, worked differently than a casual hook up. 

In his head, Cas viewed hookups, one night stands, as someone being completely unguarded and wanton, not caring what the night carried since, by the time the sun rose, you parted ways.

He and Dean had been hesitant, awkward, and a little fearful that night, careful not to put the wrong foot forward. 

And Dean stayed the next morning. 

And now stood close by as Cas adjusted the tripod. 

“Come over here,” Cas said, breaking the silence as he finished setting up the telescope, pointing it northwest. Dean obeyed and closed the distance between them. 

“Look through there,” Cas instructed before taking a small step back. 

Dean did as he was told and peered through the scope. He adjusted his stance a little before his mouth dropped open. 

“Holy shit,” he breathed in astonishment, mirroring the same reaction Cas had all those years ago when he took the telescope to the roof of his school and looked out for the first time. 

He smiled as Dean adjusted again, pointing the telescope more to the north.

“Didn’t realize all those were up there?” Cas asked.

Dean pulled back and looked back up at Cas. Whatever nervousness he carried completely vanished from his face, replaced with unbridled excitement.

“Those three brighter ones,” Dean pointed in front of him. “What’s that called? I thought I remembered but I can’t put a finger on it.” 

Cas looked up to where Dean was pointing and sighed. 

“I actually don’t know. I never fully dedicated myself to understand what I was seeing. I just like looking at them,” he explained, “Sometimes I googled, but I mostly just liked how it looked.”

Dean frowned, processing Cas’s words.

“You just liked looking at them?” 

“It helped calm me down in school,” Cas answered, “I had an astronomy teacher who liked to break the rules a little, let me up on the roof when I wasn’t supposed to be up there..”

It sounded lame as Cas said it, unable to fully articulate why he did it, or why he liked it, only just that in a finals week or when he had been feeling particularly homesick for a home he never actually wanted to return to, he’d take one of the telescopes and bring it to the roof. In relaying that story to Gabriel, Cas had been gifted one. 

Dean looked back at the telescope, and couldn’t help the smile on his face, “So you’re telling me we came all the way out here to look at stars that you don’t know anything about?”

Cas nodded, a little embarrassed. He did want to look at the stars, but he didn’t want it to take all night. There was a reason why they brought an entire bed out there with them.

Dean smirked, understanding—but instead of going to the car, he bent back down and looked through the scope again.

“I heard if you discover a star, you get to name it,” he said.

“I don’t think you need to discover it—but yes,” Cas answered, moving a little closer, a little annoyed. The telescope and star gazing bit of the night he had hoped would only last a short amount of time after Dean’s initial exposure. 

But at least Dean looked good in the moonlight. 

Dean stood back up and again pointed up at the sky to another bright star near the initial cluster of three.

“I’m naming that one.”

Cas paused and turned, trying to find it. Frowning he put his eye against the scope. 

“What’s that one?”

“Me.”

“You’re naming it ‘Me’? Or—“

“My name—my name. I’m naming it after myself.”

Cas smiled at Dean’s excitement before adjusting the telescope slightly. He felt Dean move a little closer. 

“Then I’m naming that one,” Cas said before lifting himself up and pointing to another one that looked almost purple, close by to Dean’s star. 

“After yourself?” 

“No—I’m going to name it after the family dog we had when I was three. Chester.”

Dean laughed and scanned the sky, sans telescope this time. 

They spent the following ten minutes pointing out random bright stars in the sky and naming them various things. One was named after Dean’s favorite movie star (“A star named Patrick Swazye is pretty cool, you have to admit”) and Cas named another after the street where he first crashed his bicycle (“Not too far from your house actually, over on Maple.”). Another one named for a really nice sandwich Dean had when he had first gone to Kansas City and Cas announced that the one right next to it would be named after his favorite hotel. 

“That’s random,” Dean said, scanning the sky again.

“I’ve done a bit of traveling. You’d be surprised what things stay in your memory while sleeping in a strange place night after night,” Cas explained, a little more quiet than before. He paused before looking over at Dean. “It’s not random.”

“So what’s it called? Hilton?” He turned his attention away from the sky and glancing back over to Cas.

Cas waiting an extra moment to see if Dean would get it; he wasn’t going to prompt him. Dean frowned with thought, and Cas sighed, looking back up. 

He didn’t really care which star he pointed to at that point.

“I’ll name that one—”

“Paradise Hills?”

Dean caught up. Cas smiled but didn’t look at him.

“Well, I can’t name that one Paradise Hills if I already named that other one Paradise Hills,” Cas explained, keeping his voice light. The same butterflies that struck him Sunday night had returned. 

After an extended moment of silence, Cas finally looked back over to Dean, who initially appeared nervous as well before taking a deep breath, raising his eyebrows, and faking a yawn. He stretched as he passed Cas, heading toward the truck, his t-shirt riding up just enough to expose a sliver of skin.

With a boldness neither of them initially had in the hotel, Dean didn’t hesitate in removing all his clothing. He didn’t look at Cas as he made a show out of folding them and tucking them into the side of the truck bed. He hoisted himself up into the cab and kicked off his shoes and watched them fall into the dirt. Eventually, Dean sat cross-legged on the makeshift bed, smiling, waiting for Cas. 

Watching him, Cas realized just how valuable their first night together was in terms of knowing what to do, how to do it, and when to do what. 

He didn’t move quickly as he tapped into that knowledge from Sunday, knowing the longer he drew it out, the more desperate Dean got. 

They seemed to like playing this game.

Cas went over to the back of the truck, right in front of Dean but not looking at him, and slipped free from his shirt. Folding it, while still avoiding eye contact, Cas placed it in a side pocket opposite Dean’s things. 

He turned around as he undid the button to his jeans, not allowing Dean to see any of it. Though Cas couldn’t see it, he knew Dean was staring, waiting to pounce when he could. The unnamed feeling came back and settled into the forefront of his mind.

Back still to Dean, jeans off, Cas sat at the edge of the bed and slowly unlaced his shoes, lowering them down to the ground by the laces into the dirt. One down, another to go, and he heard a soft “Jesus Christ” from behind him. Cas kept the smile to himself, knowing he’d likely win this round, just like he won Sunday. 

Just as Cas pulled down one of his socks, the last item of clothing remaining, he felt the truck move. Before he could turn and look, Dean had positioned himself right behind Cas, mere centimeters away from actually pressing up against him. 

“You made your point,” he breathed in Cas’s ear, impatience lacing his words, “You won.”

“Someone’s in a hurry,” Cas countered, pulling off the other sock, leaning over to tuck them in the side pocket. 

As he straightened back up, warm hands rested on his lower back, traveled up slowly to his shoulders then back down.

“Please?”

That small, quiet word in his ear broke Cas’s resolve. He turned and Dean immediately caught him by the mouth, moving back into the truck bed. Cas dutifully followed. 

They had stacked three fluffy duvets into the truck to serve as a mattress. It was comfortable enough, certainly not a hotel bed, or his own bed, but it was good enough. There was room in the back for both of them but they would still have to squeeze in close to fit, but Cas considered that more of a gift than a hindrance. 

Dean’s head almost met the pillow when he broke away with a gasp of air.

“Wait, wait—”

Cas paused.

“What?”

“I want to switch,” Dean said, staring at Cas’s mouth. “I wanna try something.”

With a world of possibilities still unexplored between them, Cas did as he was told and took Dean’s spot against the blankets and pillows, trying to guess what it was Dean wanted to do. Not like it mattered—Cas assumed it’d all feel great.

As soon as he laid down, he could tell Dean’s nerves had come back. Their faces were close, and even in the low light, Cas could make out the fear now lining his face. 

He lifted his hand and rested it on the back of Dean’s head, drawing him in for another quick kiss.

“Remember, I’m new to this too,” Cas whispered, giving Dean a small smile. It took a moment but Dean eventually smiled as well, giving Cas a small nod of acknowledgment. He moved to a spot just under Cas’s ear and went back to work. 

Panic struck Cas at that moment and he tapped the back of Dean’s head to get his attention.

“If you’re gonna leave a mark, make it lower this time,” he warned, remembering the frozen terror of Monday as Zachariah hauled him into the tv den.

“That’s fine,” Dean said as he went back to work. Cas realized Dean may have taken it for just another comment, trying to be sexy. 

He never told him what happened. 

_Stop it. Stop thinking about it_.

It was a problem for a different day, not right now. 

Trying to bring himself back to the present, Cas forced all his attention onto Dean as he began to make his way down the side of Cas’s neck and the fact that already both of them had no control over their lower halves; their hips began to work off of muscle memory and started to gently rock against each other. 

Cas couldn’t get over how quickly Dean could stoke the fire and cause Cas to forget everything else that wasn’t them.

Dean would set the pace that night, and as he traveled from Cas’s neck, across his collarbone, to the hollow of his throat, Cas wondered if he’d try to stretch this out to last night, or opt for short, quick bursts. Both sounded great to Cas. 

Dean shifted his head so his mouth rested directly on Cas’s throat. 

“Just lay still, okay?”, he murmured. Cas swallowed, feeling Dean’s lips against his skin. 

“Okay.”

Dean knew what he wanted to do, and Cas trusted him. 

Dean continued downward, placing soft kisses on his throat again, down, down, down. Each one created lazy tendrils of fire that moved with Dean as he moved slow and steady over Cas’s collarbone again, his chest, stomach, and—

Cas’s hands automatically wound themselves in Dean’s hair, taking a shaky breath as he felt Dean continuing downward. Hands suddenly pinned Cas’s hips to the bed in as Dean continued his plan, continued placing those small and delicate kisses on—

“Dean—” Cas breathed, now feeling a tongue in place of lips, dragging itself up and down. His hips twitched involuntarily but didn’t go far as Dean continued holding them. 

“Lay still,” was all he replied with, already sounding hoarse. 

Before he continued, Dean turned his head and placed his mouth at the juncture of Cas’s upper thigh and groin. That’s where he decided to make another mark. 

Cas commended himself for not coming right then and there as teeth and lips gently worked the spot until Dean was satisfied. Summoning the energy, Cas shifted himself up onto his elbows to see it, but Dean covered it. 

“You can wait.”

Taking a deep breath, Cas lowered himself down again, hands returning to Dean’s hair as he smiled to himself. 

_Well—no one will find that_.

“Are you good?” Dean asked, voice still hardly above a whisper. Cas tilted his head so he could see better, and saw Dean eager to go, but holding back—just in case.

“Yes.”

Without another word, Cas watched as Dean freed one of his hands to provide some steadiness, then sank his mouth down on Cas completely. No stopping, nothing left—all the way down. The sight of it alone drew a deep groan out of Cas as he put his head back against the pillows, hands tightening in Dean’s hair. 

Dean surfaced after a moment and used his hand again. He sounded out of breath. 

“How can you—how —” Cas tried to form the question in his head but the words caught in his throat. 

“I don’t have a gag reflex,” Dean explained, “I guess I found a thing it’s useful for.

Cas laughed before gasping as Dean went all the way back down again. He did it a few more times before staying on completely, only traveling back up halfway before sinking back down. 

The entire experience was surreal. 

When Cas explored various websites in college, he never gravitated to the ones that had only contained blow jobs—now he knew why. 

Videos could only show you so much, but the camera wasn’t inside the person’s mouth, so the viewer couldn’t watch what was done to make the other man react so intensely. 

Cas felt it now. Dean, on the ascent, would cup Cas with his tongue, and kept it like that on the way back down. A couple other times, Dean retreated so far up that Cas thought he’d leave completely, but it was only to slide his tongue over the tip a few times before going back down. The move literally took Cas’s breath away and replaced it by one or two moans and a choked off whine. 

Cas also learned that the harder he pulled Dean’s hair, the faster he went. 

_He likes that_. 

The first time, it was an accident; the second time, Cas didn’t do it as hard just to see where Dean’s threshold was; the third time, as Dean took him in again, he clenched his fists and tugged just enough to draw a moan from deep inside Dean. The sensation completely wiped everything from Cas’s head as he couldn’t help but rock his hips up a little. 

Dean stayed down where he was, breathing heavily through his nose. When Cas tilted his head again, he saw Dean’s eyes closed, looking like he was trying to compose himself before going any further. His entire face appeared flushed and his hand on Cas’s hip shook. However close Cas was to the end, Dean was closer. 

Cas rocked his hips again, and Dean’s eyes flew up open, catching Cas staring at him. 

_Keep going_. 

They both didn’t care at that point who outlasted who—Dean picked up the pace, and Cas tugged on his hair sporadically, conjuring up more moans and more vibrations. 

At one point, Cas pulled with his hands in a different spot and elicited a whine from Dean that quickly morphed into a sob of desperation.

And Cas swore for the first time in his life as Dean moved his hand again, gently dragging his fingertips over his perineum. 

“ _Fuck_ , Jesus—fuck,” Cas began to babble. He was there. Right there. “Dean—you gotta—I’m—” 

He tapped on Dean’s head but all Dean did was take Cas’s hand and held it in his own as he took the final plunge.

Cas didn’t see stars, he didn’t snap, instead, he squeezed his eyes closed and ripped his hand free from Dean’s and held his head there. Dean let him and kept steady as he also allowed Cas’s hips to grind upward, somehow seeking _more_. 

Dean stayed, taking everything, which only drew Cas’s orgasm out even more. 

It seemed like an eternity to come back down. 

But he did. His hips stopped moving, and he winced as Dean finally set him free before resting his forehead against Cas’s leg, trying to catch his breath. 

In those few moments of stillness, Cas stared through the top window of the cab. The moon had moved directly overhead of them and he kept his eyes focused on it, trying to catch his breath.

Finally, Dean sighed and moved to lay down next to Cas, looking absolutely wild. His hair was completely mused, cheeks red, and mouth a little swollen. But, a bright spark remained in his eyes and he had a small smile on his face. 

Unable to help himself, Cas moved forward and kissed Dean, deep and explorative, trying to uncover whatever magic Dean had inside that mouth. 

“Christ—that’s hot,” Dean said, voice hoarser than before and strained as Cas drew away. 

“Do you need—” Cas started but Dean stopped him. 

“Seems I did enough for both of us,” he answered, as he took Cas’s hand and guided it down. At some point, Dean came all on his own. “Actually, probably not all me. You’re really hot when you swear just so you know. I’ll take a rain check, how’s that?” Dean flashed Cas with a toothy grin. 

Cas nodded automatically as he suddenly felt that unnamed emotion surge into the empty spot his earlier adrenaline occupied.

Except it wasn’t unnamed anymore.

He drew Dean in for another kiss as they waited to start round two, wanting to distract himself from the loud realization pounding in his head. 

_I’m in love with him._


	12. Twelve

A day went by before Hannah met up with Cas at the local park. 

He had missed their date the morning after he and Dean went to the field. Their phones had died overnight and woke up much later than planned. 

And if Cas had to be honest, he completely forgot. 

She didn’t text him for the rest of the day, and Cas had been sure she would tell Zachariah or Michael, which would prompt questions that Cas didn’t have answers to.

But Friday morning came and Cas had woken up to a text from Hannah simply reading—

**We need to talk.**

Nothing ever good came after “we need to talk”. 

But Cas still dressed and slipped out of the house while Michael remained closed off in his study. 

He met Hannah at the local park where kids and families flooded the playground and sports fields, keen on enjoying a summer day that didn’t include scorching temperatures.

Cas wished he could enjoy the day as well.

“Your ice cream is melting,” Hannah said, hardly audible over the children screaming and laughing.

Cas looked down at his hand and saw his half-eaten ice cream was oozing down the cone. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, not knowing why he said it.

He felt, rather than heard, Hannah sigh next to him and he tensed, bracing himself.

“You don’t like me very much” 

It wasn’t a question, but a statement. 

Cas didn’t look at her. He once again had no answer or follow up to give. Years and years of constant lessons in Catholic school teaching him not to lie, and that God punishes liars, wiped that ability from Cas’s head. 

He swallowed hard, staring at the ice cream. 

“I like you,” he answered, voice a little hoarse. That was the truth—Hannah was very nice. She was a nice young woman. But Cas paused, wondering how honest he should be. Hannah expected requited feelings, a sense of love and caring—something Cas only felt for someone else.

“It’s only...if I’m honest—I like you. I do. But I just graduated and this blindsided me. I was looking at a future devoted to God, not with—

He couldn’t say the words girlfriend or wife. 

Now Cas looked over at Hannah who didn’t look sad anymore. It was worse. 

Pity.

_Poor Cas doesn’t know how to love, God bless._

“I guess I can understand that,” Hannah commented with a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes, “I was halfway through business school when my uncle pulled me out.”

Cas paused, absorbing Hannah’s comment.

“Wait—what?”

Hannah shrugged. She didn’t look that bothered but she turned away from Cas so he couldn’t see her face.

“I don’t know. He paid for it so I guess he could take it back whenever he wanted,” Hannah turned back to him, her smile strained. “He was never wild about me going to college.”

They sat in silence for a few moments while Cas processed what she said. 

“How come you never told me?”

Hannah shrugged again, finishing her ice cream cone, “Because there’s nothing you can do about it, so why burden you with my problems?”

Cas sighed, staring at the ground. He could relate to that. 

A minute of silence passed between them as Cas attempted to finish eating the ice cream. He gave up almost as soon as he started and stood up to throw it away with Hannah’s words bouncing around in his head. 

Ever since Thursday night, he had been on an emotional rollercoaster that seemingly had no end. His realization that night stayed with him throughout the night, into the morning, and the rest of the day. At first, Cas had to test himself to see if what he really felt _was_ love, because he hadn’t ever been in love in his life. 

What _was_ love? He had felt good after what Dean did, but was that love? Or just high?

But that night, as Dean drifted off to sleep first, Cas had watched him, allowing wisps of thought to float in and out of his mind. They deposited vague, generalized scenarios of them together, asking him how it felt when he saw a text or call from him, videos, pictures, that weird sensation whenever Dean smiled or said his name. 

While Cas didn’t know much about love, he knew it couldn’t be all about him and how Dean made him feel. As he drifted off to sleep as well, Cas thought about things he could do, how much he wanted Dean to be happy and smile and say his name. 

That morning, as they snuck one more moment together before leaving, seeing Dean look at him with that bright spark in his eyes, Cas figured he could safely say—

Yes, he was in love.

But then Cas had to go home; Cas had to be reminded of what reality awaited him, and that lie he didn’t know how to bring up, or when. 

By Friday night, just before Hannah texted, Cas had been laying in bed, messaging Dean back and forth about nonsense. Several times he typed _I love you_ just to see what it looked like, careful to delete before sending anything else. 

That’s when the questions began inside his head. 

_Do you really love him or are you using him to avoid your responsibilities?_

_Do you really love him if you’re keeping things from him?_

_Do you really love him to the point where you’d actually do something about it?_

_What did a future with Dean look like?_

_Can you actually get there?_

Cas had no answers. Just like he had no answers for Hannah.

“Do you think we have a future?” Hannah asked, her voice cutting through Cas’s thoughts as he cleaned his hand off with a water bottle.

Just another question to pile on top of the others.

The first impulse was to say _No_ , but he caught himself. 

His second impulse was to say that it was too soon to be even thinking about that before remembering he had to propose soon. 

And he himself had been thinking about a future with Dean, knowing each of them for the same amount of time.

But could he and Dean even have a future?

The clock started its countdown in Cas’s head as he realized he had no idea what Dean’s intentions were, and time was running out. 

“Cas?” Hannah prompted him, frowning. He cleared his throat.

“Maybe,” Cas answered, but he forced a small, hopefully playful, smile. She returned it and began to lean forward. Cas had no choice but to do the same, and meet her in the middle. 

As soon as he saw Hannah go into her house, Cas took out his phone. 

The drive back from the park had been awkward, but a little less tense. Hannah seemed satisfied enough with their small kiss while Cas wanted to scrub his mouth for an hour. He did say a silent prayer of thanks that his first kiss was with Dean and not on a park bench with melted ice cream and a girl he didn’t want to be with.

But Cas’s head would not be quiet the entire ride home. It kept running and running, spitting out different scenarios with two different people. 

Hannah didn’t try kissing him when she left but gave him a little wave before he headed for the door—

Where Zachariah waited for her. 

She kissed him on the cheek as she went into the house but he kept his eyes on Cas. He didn’t need to say it, Cas could already read it on his face:

I’m watching you. 

After Zachariah closed the door Cas started the car again, hands shaking. Zachariah knew things—knew something—and Cas knew it was something more than just the hickey on his neck.

All he wanted to do was get away from Hannah, her family, her house, that block, his own house— he wanted to go somewhere. Anywhere.

Cas glanced at his phone sitting in the center console. Over the weeks it had become his lifeline. 

He picked it up and swiped into his messages. 

3:14 p.m.

_Are you home?_

Cas shot off the text and backed out of the driveway, glancing at the windows. Zachariah still watched him. Holding his breath, Cas turned the car and tried to obey the speed limit driving away. 

Ten minutes later, Cas’s phone buzzed with a reply, just as he turned onto Dean’s street. 

3:24

**Yeah, you need to come over?**

Cas breathed a sigh of relief, the first steady breath he had taken since Friday morning.

Instead of driving further down the street to Dean’s house. Cas pulled over to the side and answered, just to make it seem like he wasn’t about to barge in on Dean’s afternoon regardless if he had answered his phone or not. 

3:25 

_I’d be grateful_

3:26 

**I’ll be here**

Cas sighed and put his phone on the passenger seat, staring down the road to the little bit of Dean’s house he could see through the trees. 

_I don’t even know what the inside of his house looks like_ , Cas thought, wondering if that answered any of the questions in his head. 

His mind, still racing from earlier, shot off scenarios one by one, pretending he actually live there; Dinners, waking up in the morning together, late nights out by that fire pit they first spoke at, colder midwestern nights wouldn’t be a problem for them, nor would they need extra blankets given how good they were at generating their own heat—

Cas jumped as his phone buzzed against the seat belt buckle. He reached over and read the message—

3:28

**I can see you down the street**

—and looked back up, seeing Dean waving at the end of his driveway. 

Cas sighed and eased down the road and into Dean’s driveway. Dean flashed him a smile, but something was off. 

It didn’t reach his eyes, just like Hannah’s earlier, and he looked a little paler than usual. Cas frowned as he unbuckled himself and got out of the car. 

“Are you sick?” Cas asked, walking around the front of the car but keeping his distance. Just in case. 

Dean looked confused, “That’s really the first thing you say to me?” 

“You don’t look—

“Nah—I’m not sick, my AC’s been broken since last night and I probably just look like death,” Dean explained, walking toward him.

Cas frowned. 

“You don’t look that bad.”

Dean stopped just inside Cas’s personal space, face dropping back to serious. Too serious. 

“I was actually about to hit up the pool if you wanted to join.”

Cas glanced at the pool in the shade. 

“I didn’t bring a bathing suit,” Cas said, looking back at Dean who smirked. 

“Who said you needed a bathing suit?” He asked, turning away from Cas and immediately pulling his shirt over his head, tossing it to the ground. Cas watched as he went through his small wooden gate. By the lawnchairs, Dean bent down and then came back up with the rest of his clothing in his hand, a wide smile on his face. 

Cas walked closer, watching as Dean climbed the small ladder to get into the pool. He had only seen Dean like this in the sun once and it was that photo and video, every other time was low, hotel-room grade lighting or by moonlight. Out in the sun, he practically glowed.

“You gonna stand there all day?” Dean called from the pool.

Cas pushed through the gate and saw Dean hanging onto the edge, legs kicked out behind him with a lazy smile on his face. Walking over to the lawn chairs, Cas glanced at Dean again, pausing as he went to undo the top button of his shirt, “Are you expecting a show?”

Dean nodded, resting his chin on his arms, “That’d be nice.”

But that’s not how their game worked. Cas instead decided to turn his back on Dean to undo his shirt, much like the other night. He heard the sigh of disappointment and a frustrated kick in the water. Cas smiled as he glanced over his shoulder, undoing the last button. Much like the other night, Cas slipped the shirt off and folded it neatly on the chair.

“Seriously?” He heard Dean whine. Cas turned around with his hands on his belt, feigning confusion. “You’re seriously folding your clothes?”

Cas rolled his eyes and turned back around and undid his belt. No game yet. Maybe later. 

Belt on top of his shirt, Cas slid out of his shorts and everything else remaining. With a deep inhale, he turned around to witness a very flustered Dean who’s smile completely dropped. 

Cas felt exposed. 

He was exposed, but more exposed than one might normally feel in that situation. He was under the spotlight but not from the sun. He was trapped in Dean’s intense stare. 

“Can you please get in here now?” 

Cas obeyed and carefully climbed up the ladder, looking down to the water sparkling in the sunlight. Dean turned around, still watching him. As Cas descended, the cold hit him like a punch to the chest and knocked him breathless for a moment. 

“How is this thing so cold when it’s out in the sun all day?” 

“It’s in the shade until early afternoon, and sometimes I throw in some ice.”

“Really?”

“No. Well, yes to the shade, no to the ice.”

Cas submerged himself completely and ducked his head underwater to get his entire body used to the temperature faster. When he rose, he saw Dean had grabbed the two foam noodles leaning against the side of the pool. They both moved onto them, staying silent for a minute.

“What happened?” Dean eventually asked. 

Cas hesitated, knowing Dean didn’t like to hear about Hannah—but that was the whole reason why he came.

“I had another date with Hannah this afternoon,” Cas mumbled, picking at a spot on the styrofoam.

Dean didn’t prompt him for the story and Cas didn’t blame him.

“I have to tell you something,” Cas confessed, looking back up at Dean who remained still and quiet.

At that point, even the cicadas and birds silenced themselves. 

Cas sighed deep and floated a little closer to Dean. It was the whole reason why he wanted to come here in the first place. Dean didn’t move away which Cas took as a good sign. 

“Well—two things actually,” Cas clarified. He paused and took a deep breath, still not looking up at Dean. “The other day—Monday—when I was at the party—”

“Oh God,” Dean interrupted, “No one saw the—”

“No, no one saw what you sent me,” Cas assured Dean, looking up at him, attempting a smile but failing. Dean’s face fell as he waited for Cas to continue. 

Cas wanted to move closer, to use Dean as some kind of stable ground while he found his voice but held back. 

He had to do this himself. 

“I was on my way to the bathroom to see the photo and video you sent, and Hannah’s uncle stopped me,” Cas said, looking down at the pool floor. “I thought he wanted to just talk with me in the hall but he pulled me into a different room. He—I guess he saw the—,” Cas gestured at his neck where the bruise had all but faded away completely. Dean frowned. “And said that he knew Hannah didn’t give it to me and that I had to watch myself.”

He paused, trying to figure out how to go into his second admission. 

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, floating a little closer to Cas. “That was my fault.”

Cas glanced back up and smiled at the memory.

“But I could have stopped you,” Cas countered, “and I didn’t. But that’s why I said the other night—”

“Did I put it low enough that time?” Dean grinned, looking down. They couldn’t see it through the water, but the first thing Cas did when he woke up Friday looked at it in the morning light. It looked even better in the mirror.

“Yes,” Cas flushed, trying to find his way back to the conversation, “And I wouldn’t mind a few more but—that’s not—”

“I interrupted I’m sorry,” Dean said, slipping back into a more serious expression. 

“When I dropped Hannah off this afternoon, he was looking at me strangely, and _kept_ looking at me even after he closed the door—he was watching me through the bow window when I left.”

Dean stopped floating, putting both feet on the pool floor.

“Do you think he knows?”

Cas shook his head.

“I don’t know if he knows specifics, but I do know that he knows something, and it feels like it’s more than just knowing I had a hickey,” Cas explained. He couldn’t articulate exactly how he felt catching Zachariah staring at him through the window. “I’m just saying, we have to be careful.”

Dean nodded.

“You said there was something else?” 

Cas looked back down, trying to settle his nerves. This was the one he wished he didn’t have to say. The truth he hung onto for a week festered in him and now floating in the pool, looking around the yard, Cas's heart ached thinking it would all soon be a parking lot.

“Cas—”

“They’re trying to run you out of town,” Cas finally said, watching the water reflect the sun at the bottom of the pool. He didn’t want to look at Dean’s face. “Michael had said when he first—when Hannah was brought into the mix that he was trying to do something with a development and stop her uncle from getting it—but I didn’t know until recently it meant your block.”

“Cas–” Dean started again but Cas held up a hand.

“And if them wanting this place wasn’t enough—if Hannah and I got married—”

“Their companies would benefit in merging and then run me out of town,” Dean finished. Cas looked up, confused.

“How did you—”

“I got papers yesterday,” Dean mumbled, flicking a little bug out of the water. “They can’t force me out of here though, and if I have to live in the middle of a parking lot, then so be it.”

Cas bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to say anything. Any other time, any other circumstance, maybe the stubbornness would be bracing, but—

“Dean they’re going to find a way,” Cas warned, trying to get him to understand, “He always finds a way.”

Dean looked off into the field over the back gate, anger building. The air between them chilled, and Cas wanted nothing more than to take everything back. 

“You said you had a date with Hannah?” 

“What?” 

“You said you had a date with Hannah,” Dean repeated, glancing over to Cas but floating away a little. “What happened?”

Cas knew the conversation would only lead to more frustrations and anger. He didn’t want to elaborate anymore. He just wanted to sit there quietly until maybe Dean got sick of him and kicked him out of the pool.

_He associates you with them. You’re a threat._

He sighed.

“She asked me why I didn’t like her very much—which isn’t true. I do like her. I think she’s nice, but not like that,” Cas started, keeping his eyes on the garden gate that swayed in the small breeze. “I told her that I did like her, and that everything kind of happened too fast, I didn’t have time to adjust—and then she asked if we had a future together.”

Dean tensed and floated a little further away. Cas wondered if he should just leave now. 

“I told her maybe. And then she kissed me,” Cas said, grimacing at the twitch of annoyance in Dean’s jaw.

“How was it?” Dean asked, not in a teasing, playful way, but challenging—almost jealous.

“Bad. I mean, I only have one other experience to compare it with, and when I do, it was very bad.”

Cas expected Dean to smirk at the compliment but he stayed where he was. 

The emotional rollercoaster continued to pull Cas around.

“Are you angry?” 

Dean glanced at Cas before softening a little, sighing.

“No. I’m just—“ he lifted a hand out of the water, trying to find some words, “I don’t know.”

They both fell back into an uncomfortable silence. The unpleasantries were out, one two and three, and it soured the entire afternoon. 

_You can’t do anything about it._

_Why burden you with my problems?_

Hannah’s voice echoed in Cas’s head as he decided he should leave. He shouldn’t have come in the first place to just dump everything into Dean’s lap, expecting him to have an answer to it all.

“You said ‘maybe’.” Dean said before Cas could move toward the ladder.

“What?”

“You said ‘maybe’ to her when she asked about a future. Why did you say maybe?” Dean asked. He sounded almost scared. 

Cas hesitated, not wanting to burden Dean with even more stress and decisions to make. He wasn’t sure how much more their afternoon could take.

But it didn’t stop his mouth from moving anyway.

“Because I don’t know where this is going,” Cas gestured between the two of them. The question he had been trying to avoid finally surfaced—the question between both of them. “You can’t tell me you haven’t thought of the same thing.”

Cas paused. Dean didn’t say anything. 

He tried one more time. 

“Do _we_ have a future together?” he asked, mimicking Hannah, frustration growing at Dean’s silence. His stubbornness and silence. “Or is it just going to be blow jobs in the back of a truck or midnight runs to hotels?”

Dean took too long to answer and Cas felt his heart sink to the bottom of his stomach. The emotional roller coaster did have an end, and it wasn’t where Cas wanted it to be. 

The first time he’s fallen in love and it ends in heartbreak two days later. Cas wondered if that was a world record.

Dean finally sighed and looked Cas straight in the eye, the frown still in place accompanied by either fear or sadness—at that point, Cas couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“I don’t know,” Dean answered. 

Cas saw their little world, whatever it is they had, begin to crumble in front of his eyes. It wasn’t a “maybe”; it wasn’t hopeful. 

_I don’t know_ meant doubts, meant insecurity, meant faithlessness. 

Cas said nothing as he looked away from Dean, trying to decide if he should leave angry, depressed, or embarrassed. 

All three sounded like a possibility. 

He let the noodle hit the side of the pool as he slid off of it, turning to the ladder. 

Before he could get far Cas heard Dean move as well and felt a cold hand on his shoulder. 

“Wait, wait—wait,” Dean said. Cas turned to see Dean still frowning, confused. Cas didn’t want to wait, he couldn’t wait, neither of them could wait—

“I just don’t see why we have to rush it, that’s all,” Dean said, sounding regretful and confused. Cas didn’t believe that’s what he wanted to say.

Cas stared at him, “We don’t have forever. My month is almost up.”

Dean’s face fell, and Cas wondered if he had completely forgotten about the expected proposal.

Lucky.

Something was on the tip of Dean’s tongue but Cas still didn’t prompt him. He said what he had to say already.

“I have to tell you something too,” Dean confessed, using Cas’s words from earlier.

“What?” Cas asked, ready for Dean to say he had been carrying on with that girl he initially broke up with, or that he was seeing someone else, or that he wasn’t really into men at all and “it was nice while it lasted, fun experiment, but I’m gonna go back to being normal”—

“When I told you that you were the first to know my—you know,” Dean started. “I lied. You were the third.”

_Oh it’s even worse_ , Cas thought, bracing himself for Dean to say that he found another man. A woman was one thing, but Cas going from being Dean’s first to side of the road trash in a week was really something.

“Can you come here?” Dean asked, handing Cas back the pool noodle. Cas took it, keeping his mouth shut. He didn’t want to stay; he didn’t want to hear that he had been replaced, he didn’t want to hear that Dean never thought of them as ever being together—

Dean sunk back into the water, and Cas followed, but still kept his distance.

After a moment of silence, Dean swallowed hard and looked down.

“When I was—I don’t know, nineteen or something, my father caught me sending some text messages to another guy. Someone from high school. And the texts were obviously—you know,” Dean started, struggling to get words out. “They weren’t like how you and I—but it was still—my dad blew a gasket, like, completely flipped. Not that he was the nicest guy in the first place but I think he was maybe trying to do the same thing Michael is doing now—I think he just wanted me to get married to a nice girl as soon as possible so maybe we’d get some more money or a better house or something.”

Dean paused and Cas moved a little forward, all of his frustration ebbing into the background, quickly replaced by guilt.

It was worse, but not for the reasons Cas had thought.

He felt his knees bump into Dean’s as he imagined what it must have been like for Dean. It was the nightmare scenario that Cas was terrified of for years but Dean was the one who had lived through it already. Judging by his sagging shoulders and inability to look Cas in the eye, it still deeply affected him.

“It was a rough time after that, especially after Sam went off to California a few years later and I was by myself with him,” Dean continued, staring at the water as he relived whatever repressed memory he had been trying to forget.

It was then Cas realized he had never heard Dean talk about his father.

“Where’s he now? Your dad?” 

“St. Mary’s cemetery on the other side of town” Dean answered with a deep sigh. “He died last year.”

Looking uncomfortable, Dean lapsed into silence. Cas didn’t ask any more additional details, not wanting Dean to have to talk about it more.

His anger completely evaporated as he restrained himself from invading Dean’s personal space to provide some kind of comfort. Whatever horrors his father had put through him in those years still left scars. And that was just after Dean was outed. Cas shuddered to think what life must have been like before then.

“I’m sorry,” was all Cas could say, finding himself wishing he could somehow go back in time to five years ago when he contemplated dropping out of college when he himself was battling with the self-realization. If he did that, he could have come back home and maybe have met Dean sooner, before the Grays moved in, before they got caught in whatever web they were in now.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Dean said, finally lifting his head frowning at Cas. 

“I know—but still.” Cas wished he had the proper words.

“I just—I mean I told you that because I wanted you to kinda understand where—not where I’m coming from but just what’s…” Dean trailed off, looking frustrated. “It’s all so new to me. I hadn’t done anything with any guy since then, and those were just text messages—and I never thought of a future with someone in general, especially after my dad died.”

Dean hesitated before he reached out to pull Cas closer. Cas let him. Whatever coldness or tension that was in either of them melted away, but only to be replaced by sadness and regret. 

“So if I seem reluctant, it’s probably just because I had never thought about anything like that.”

It was a backhanded explanation, Cas realized. The explanation—he sympathized with; he too didn’t really think of any kind of future with anyone other than God until very recently. 

But at the same time, it told Cas that while he had been slowly thinking about a future with Dean and what that may look like, Dean was very much rooted in the present and wasn’t even thinking about where their relationship, whatever it was they had, was going. 

“It’s new to me too,” Cas said quietly, “And if it seems like I’m pushing, I apologize. My back is against the wall.”

Dean nodded, “I understand.” 

He didn’t elaborate or still give Cas any indication of an answer, and Cas knew he had to stand down for now. He wasn’t going to get any direction today, and to keep pushing Dean meant another chance for frustration and anger to come back.

But the ticking in his head grew louder and it couldn’t be ignored forever. 

To distract himself, and hopefully Dean, Cas leaned forward over the float and caught Dean in a light kiss, reminiscent of their very first one.

When he pulled away, he drew out that smirk he wanted to see since he arrived; cocky, playful, teasing—normalcy.

“So how _was_ that kiss earlier today?” Dean asked, smiling because he already knew the answer.

“Not that great,” Cas answered, “I don’t know if it was her first one—if it was then that’s understandable—I just hope _I_ wasn’t bad,” Cas said. 

Dean shook his head as he kicked away from Cas to the other side of the pool, “I can guarantee you weren’t bad at all.”

They would have fooled around in the pool but Dean declared that being covered in chlorine and other pool chemicals is the opposite of sexy, so they spent the rest of the afternoon floating around in the water, meeting every so often to make some kind of contact but having to move away before it unraveled on them. Each time they met, they lingered a little longer, momentum building between them. 

They talked for a little while, carefully avoiding any talks of present or future—and Cas wasn’t sure if it was due to the heat or the adrenaline from earlier but as Dean talked about his first concert, Cas wondered what Dean would have done had he gotten farther with that friend. 

It wasn’t the point of Dean’s confession earlier—but at that moment—it was the only thing Cas focused on.

His imagination meandered along, seeing another person in that hotel bed; blurry face, no discernible details—but along with it came a spark of jealousy. 

First came the fact that Cas had thought he was the first one to engage with Dean with any activity relating to any kind of relationship, including text messages—even if Dean said they weren’t of the same caliber. 

_Do you really care about that though?_

No.

The fear laid in the shadows of Cas’s mind; the notion of Dean eventually calling quits and moving on to someone else. Cas didn’t think it would come down to lack of enthusiasm, but because Cas had too much baggage with his family, needed answers faster than Dean wanted to give them, and had such a tangled future that no sane person would volunteer to sift through. 

But _God_ … Cas wanted him so bad. 

_Then fight_. 

_Don’t lose him._

_Show him how much he’s wanted._

It didn’t matter that Dean at that moment didn’t see what Cas did. He just had to try and not let Dean slip through his fingers.

_Show him how much you love him._

“You good?” Dean asked, starting to float back over to him. Cas looked over to him, confused. “You’ve been spacing out for like, a minute.”

“Yeah—” Cas cleared his throat, looking past Dean at the sun which had begun its descent. “Yeah sorry, just a little—” he waved his hand, not really knowing what to say. 

Dean started to inch closer and Cas wished he didn’t—not unless he wanted to get pinned against the pool wall. 

“Is it time to get out?” Dean asked as Cas slid off the float.

“Just wanted to stand,” Cas answered, as Dean floated into his space. He held Dean’s float, forcing him to stop a few inches away.

“I know that look,” Dean whispered, the smirk returning. The tension was back, this time pulling Cas in instead of pushing him out. “Penny for your thoughts?” 

_You don’t want to know my thoughts,_ Cas answered Dean silently, moments away from snapping. This didn’t feel like the other two times. Cas _wanted_ Dean without any caution or hesitancy.

Cas shook his head as he allowed Dean to walk them to the pool wall.

“Nope.”

Dean released the float from under him and forced Cas back up against the pool wall. 

“I think you want to share,” he said, staring at Cas’s mouth.

Cas shook his head again.

“I think you’re wrong.”

Even in cool water, their bodies retained their warmth and Cas tried to control himself as Dean held onto the edge of the pool, pulling himself in. No fooling around. No games. 

Dean finally pressed against Cas the best he could and kissed him with no playfulness or teasing—none of that now. The day had started horrible for Cas and only a few hours earlier he had been certain every moment of happiness he gathered since coming home would be ripped away from him. 

The rollercoaster began again, ascending slowly. 

“Not in here,” Dean said, eventually breaking away. Before Cas could stop him, Dean swam over to the ladder. Not intending to let Dean too far, Cas followed.

“Chlorine isn’t sexy. We need a shower otherwise—”

“Okay, just go,” Cas cut Dean off, starting to feel jumpy, nodding to the ladder. 

Dean smiled at Cas’s impatience, gave him a quick kiss, frustrating Cas even more, climbed out of the pool. Cas had to look away otherwise they weren’t even going to make it into the house.

But they did, by some miracle and Dean threw a towel at him before turning to open the back door. He hesitated a moment, glancing back at Cas before pushing through.

No one had to say what the hesitation was about. 

Dean’s house was substantially smaller and simpler than Cas’s. 

As they stepped inside, Cas was hit in the face with a wall of hot air that had built over the course of an afternoon with no air conditioning. Dean had kept the lights off and as Cas walked in, it took him a moment for his eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness. 

The kitchen itself had no large windows but Dean walked straight across to open up the top half of a Dutch door to allow some air in. The counters were clearly older but well-loved. Cas could see some kind of pasta sauce stain near the stove with some chips in the fake granite overlay. The kitchen table had been pushed all the way to the left against the wall and had only three chairs. Cas frowned, confused.

“Why is your table all the way over there?” He asked, briefly forgetting the whole purpose of coming inside. The kitchen was spacious and could easily fit the table in the middle of the floor.

Dean, who had been standing nearby, watching Cas’s reaction to it all, pointed over to the other side of the kitchen whose wall opened up to an equally dark living room with the shades drawn. Pushed against that wall was what was easily the most expensive thing in the kitchen: A hardwood and marble moveable island with extra kitchen gadgets below it. On top, a wooden cutting board and a knife block. 

“You like to cook?” 

“Yeah, now and then,” Dean shrugged, “Sometimes I still do frozen dinners. Easier when I’m tired.”

Cas did another pass of the kitchen, a sense of longing building. He thought back to where they had first met in Cas’s garden kitchen. The place was the same size as Dean’s kitchen, if not a little smaller, and yet worth three times the price. For what purpose? This place looked like a welcome comfort—Cas’s kitchen… kitchens… had always been sterile.

Cas wanted a place like this.

Dean stood by a hallway near the kitchen table, still watching Cas with apprehension, waiting for final judgment. 

And his towel had started to slip.

They could talk houses later Cas decided as he crossed the kitchen, past Dean without looking at him, and looked down the wide hallway. At the very end, he could see through a partially opened door a bathroom sink. He glanced back over his shoulder to Dean with a reassuring smile.

“Aren’t you going to show me around?” Cas asked, keeping his tone light. Dean hesitated before moving forward, brushing past Cas.

Dean walked down the carpeted hallway straight to the bathroom. There were three other rooms with their doors closed, Cas imagined two of them had belonged to Dean’s family, and the one at the end, perpendicular with the bathroom, was Dean’s. Cas only caught a glimpse inside before he heard Dean’s towel drop to the floor. 

Cas followed him into the bathroom, also tossing his towel on the floor, watching Dean bed over to turn the water on. Cas wanted him to stay bent over, right there—

“Shower sex isn’t worth it,” Dean said as if he could read Cas’s mind. Cas frowned, forgetting there were still some things not foreign to Dean when it came to sex. Still, Cas wished he could try it just to say he did.

“So it’s a look, don’t touch situation?”

“Basically,” Dean said as the shower spray turned on with a hiss. 

The urgency ebbed only a little inside Cas as he leaned against the wall and did what he was told. Watched. 

Dean left the curtain open with his water pressure not heavy enough to cause a mess. The room filled with hot and heavy steam that mixed with the sweet summer evening air filtering through the open window.

Dean did put on a show. Cas would bet anything that Dean didn’t usually wash for that long or that thorough. 

It had its intended effect on Cas whose leg began to bounce with anticipation anxiety. Dean smiled then turned his back on him. Cas forced himself to stay still. 

“Go on, get in,” Dean said after several minutes, keeping the shower running as he stepped out. 

Cas handed Dean a towel, and promptly moved under the spray, determined to take what was the fastest shower of his life. He saw Dean watching him but Cas didn’t put a show on. The clock continued its countdown in his head.

It took half the time for Cas to wash up and he stepped out of the tub, taking a towel off of Dean’s lap. 

“What’s the rush?” Dean teased, but Cas wasn’t having it. Not now. 

Desperate at that point for some kind of contact Cas pulled Dean off the bench he sat on and pulled him in for a searing kiss that he’d been craving since that afternoon; far, far beyond what Hannah gave, or could ever give Cas.

Dean was first to pull away and slide away from Cas. He still wanted to play games as he walked backward to keep Cas in his sights. Pushing open the door to his room, Dean leaned against the door jamb with a playful smile. 

“Say it,” Dean ordered. 

Cas didn’t say anything. He knew what Dean wanted but if Dean was adamant on playing games, then he’d play.

Closing the distance between them, Cas looked Dean straight in the eye as he slid his hands down and around, resting on his backside.

“You don’t get it until you say it,” Dean murmured as Cas pressed against him while using his hands to bring Dean’s hips as flush as they could get.

“You like it that much when I swear?”

“Is that a real question?,” Dean answered before brushing his lips against Cas’s, still playing. He reached back and guided Cas’s hand further down to where it really needed to go. 

“Just say it,” Dean repeated letting go of Cas’s hand. 

Cas didn’t grant Dean’s request at first, still wondering if he could win the third round of their game, and instead let his fingers explore. Dean inhaled and arched his back slightly and Cas couldn’t hold back his own smirk that time. 

He pressed down, moving at a leisurely pace. Cas and Dean were flying blind in this department, but if that was the kind of reaction Cas could draw out, then maybe it wouldn’t be too difficult to navigate. 

And regardless, they were well past the point of no return. 

But all anger and frustration from earlier had completely melted away by now, and Cas forced himself to focus only on one task. 

“Please,” Dean finally begged— _begged—_ in Cas’s ear.

That did it. 

Cas won. 

Still not giving Dean what he wanted, Cas turned him around to hold onto the door jamb. Cas ran a finger down from Dean’s lower back, able to watch this time as he teased Dean a little more. 

They were well, _well_ past the point of no return. 

As he pressed and rubbed, Dean tried his best to restrain himself but couldn’t help but tilt his hips back, trying to get Cas to do more. 

Cas had to decide which route he wanted to take—they were all good but they didn’t have infinite stamina. And at the end of the day there were still things he didn’t know. 

Keep it simple. 

First things first, Cas needed to hear Dean beg again. It did to Cas what swearing does for Dean. 

“Do you want me to fuck you? Is that it? Is that what you want me to say?” Cas whispered in Dean’s ear, trying to get past how crass it sounded. Some things were hard to unlearn.

Dean didn’t answer but pressed his forehead against the door frame, a soft groan escaping him. 

“Say it,” Cas said, flipping the script on Dean. 

“Yes,” Dean mumbled with his head still down.

Watching Dean slowly unravel had to be the most addicting thing Cas had ever encountered. 

“Yes, what?” Cas asked, pressing down harder.

Dean groaned in frustration and turned around with that wild expression back, his eyes bright and face flushed. 

“Yes, I want you to _fuck_ me,” he answered. Before Cas could do anything, Dean moved out from his grasp and into the bedroom and over to the bedside table. He opened a drawer to take out a small bottle and then climbed on top of his bed, all the while not looking over at Cas. 

Cas watched as Dean kicked off the heavy comforter to crumple on the floor beside the bed. They wouldn’t need it to keep warm that night.

Gathering his pillows together, Dean laid against them and placed the bottle next to him. Still avoiding looking at Cas, he reached over to his phone, frowning for a moment, before music drifted out of a Bluetooth speaker on his dresser. It was just loud enough to hear the melody but too quiet to hear the words. 

Finally, Dean looked over to Cas with an eyebrow raised, impatient. 

_Are you coming?_

Cas walked over to him, swallowing any remaining nerves that lingered, and slid onto the bed himself.

“You know what you’re doing?” Dean asked as Cas grabbed the bottle.

No, he didn’t know what he was doing. Absolutely no clue.

“Not really—you?”

Dean shook his head and Cas sighed.

“Well, if I do something you don’t like just tell me.”

As Cas uncapped the bottle he heard Dean mumble _fat chance_ under his breath. Reaching back, he placed the cap on the windowsill by the end of the bed before realizing something. 

“Do you have—”

“I don’t think we need them,” Dean responded, cutting Cas off and sinking lower against the pillows. “You said you've never been with anyone before, and I recently got tested at my physical, like, a week before I met you so I think we’re okay. But if you’re concerned I’m sure they’re somewhere—”

Cas shook his head, looking back down at the bottle. 

“No, no that’s okay,” he said, trying to figure out his next move. Maybe he shouldn’t have been the one to do this first.

It would be very easy for both of them to finish quick and fast just to get that release they were craving—to go for something they’ve already done—but Cas, despite feeling frantic earlier, now had a sudden desire to make it last as long as possible; to have it settle into Dean’s head that this was what Cas had to give and what he wanted to say so badly. 

Sighing, Cas placed the bottle next to the cap on the windowsill then moved over Dean, resting on his forearms. Even if they stayed like this, Cas would have been happy. Just pressed against Dean felt like a place to be, felt right. 

“Hey,” Dean said, staring up at Cas with a smile. That bright spark remained in his eyes and he shifted his hips a little against Cas. 

“Hello,” Cas responded, mimicking Dean’s actions. 

They stayed in that position for a few minutes, continuing on with light, playful kisses to ease some of the anxiety they both carried.

Adrenaline began to build up, and Cas forced himself to break away, and sit back up on his heels. 

It was now or never. 

Cas grabbed Dean’s hips, wanting him to move a little further down. Obeying, Dean shimmied a little further down the pillows, much like last Sunday, with his legs resting on either side of Cas. 

A soft ringing started up in Cas’s head as he grabbed the bottle again, trying to keep his heart steady. 

Looking back at Dean, sadness began to creep its way back into the back of Cas’s mind. 

He didn’t want to lose this; he didn’t want to lose the chance of ever having this again. Out of his entire life it, Dean and everything they had, even if it had been for a short while, was the best thing in Cas’s life.

Cas pushed back the melancholy to focus. The heavy summer air encased them, sequestering them in their own little world where they were allowed to be themselves with no barriers or restraints. They only existed in this room.

Cas’S hands shook a little as he glanced up at Dean.

“I’ll go slow,” Cas assured him, vaguely wondering what the threshold was for too fast and too slow.

Dean smiled and angled his hips a little, “It’s just a finger right now—I hope I can at least take that otherwise we may have some problems.”

Cas didn’t answer as he looked down and pressed his middle finger against Dean with a little more force than earlier, trying to keep his breathing steady. After a moment of resistance, Cas succeeded. Dean inhaled sharply and closed his eyes. Cas paused, looking back up.

“Okay?” 

Dean took a moment before opening his eyes up, looking at the ceiling before Cas, almost in shock.

“Yeah—keep going.”

Cas did what he was told, and continued. 

A few minutes was all it took for Dean to have his arm over his eyes, trying to choke back moans, breathing hard. It didn’t take long for Cas to graduate to two fingers, bending them slightly as he would go to withdraw, grazing over Dean’s prostate. The motion drew out the first _“Fuck_ ” from Dean. 

So Cas did it again, and again, and again—

All the energy from that afternoon began to bubble up inside Cas—

_Show him, show him, show him_

—and watching Dean completely unravel in minutes added more fuel to the fire. _I did this_ , Cas repeated to himself as Dean dissolved into a litany of mumbled swear words and pleas to continue.

Cas suddenly stopped, fingers still inside but not moving. 

Dean moved his arm off his face and looked down at Cas.

“Why’d you stop?” 

Cas shrugged and wiggled his fingers, Dean tightening his legs around Cas in response. 

“Christ alive Cas—fuck,” Dean breathed, resting his head back on the pillow and closing his eyes.

“What?” Cas asked with an innocent smile as he moved them again. 

Dean huffed and squeezed his legs again, impatient.

“I want your dick in me now—that’s what I said,” Dean answered, out of breath. “Otherwise this is gonna end before you want it to.”

And they didn’t want that. 

Cas withdrew his fingers completely and grabbed the bottle again. 

The steadiness and confidence Cas built up as he worked Dean wobbled a bit, but Cas kept his focus. They passed by one hurdle with ease.

_Show him, show him, show him—_

Cas winced as prepared himself. He was much more sensitive than he realized, focusing only on Dean. 

“I don’t think this will last long in general,” Cas mumbled to himself. 

“We have to work on our timing a little,” Dean answered, overhearing. Cas glanced back over and saw Dean smile, cheeks flushed, hair mused, and eyes so dark in the dim light—already looking thoroughly—

Fucked.

Cas winced as he prepared himself, more sensitive than he thought. They probably wouldn't last very long—or maybe just him. 

He adjusted Dean and got into position, nerves coming back as he felt Dean staring at him.

_Go slow, go slow, go slow_ , Cas chanted in his head, knowing once he started it would take all his strength to stop if needed.

The point wasn’t to get himself off first or fast. This had to be good for Dean first and foremost.

“Are you ready?” Cas asked as the speaker began a new song, slower and quiet.

Dean didn’t say anything but nodded his head, face a mixture of apprehension and excitement. It was one thing to say you wanted to get fucked and an entirely different thing when it was about to happen.

Cas held his breath as he pushed forward and into Dean as slow as he possibly could. Dean tensed almost immediately and Cas stopped, arms shaking and his heart racing. Going slow was going to be very hard. 

“Are you good?” he asked, frowning at the obvious pain on Dean’s face. 

“Yeah—yeah just give me a sec,” Dean said, keeping his eyes closed. He shifted his hips a little, trying to relax, and Cas squeezed his eyes shut, trying to take short, shallow breaths.

To distract himself, Cas bent his head down again and peppered kisses along Dean’s jaw and on the sensitive spot just under his ear. He heard Dean’s attempt at regulating his breathing and tried to match every kiss to every inhale and exhale, both of them working on the same, slow rhythm—anything to get them to calm down.

After what felt like hours, Dean tapped Cas on the back.

_Okay_

Cas stayed down, just in case they had to stop again.

But they didn’t. 

Cas knew he probably shouldn’t have been the first one to do this. Dean was the one usually in Cas’s position, he probably had a built-in level of control. 

Cas struggled to keep his composure as Dean took all of him in. They both stopped moving completely and Cas rested his forehead on the pillow next to Dean, counting to himself, trying to do anything to restrain himself from acting before Dean was ready.

They stayed there for a moment, readying themselves when Dean once again tapped on Cas’s back. 

_Keep going_.

“I’m moving now,” Cas murmured into Dean’s ear before depositing another kiss there.

Dean nodded and took his hands and guided Cas back to his mouth. Cas stayed there as he slowly withdrew, only a fraction faster than when he went in but more excruciating in testing his restraint. It just felt so, so, _so damn good_. 

After a couple more times, they fell into a rhythm, slightly increasing every time Cas moved in and then easing himself back out partway, before repeating the process. Cas instantly honed in on the new noises he unlocked from Dean. Nothing like the other nights—more desperate, pleading, questioning—

Sometimes he mumbled Cas’s name, other times it was a soft sigh. His breathing still stuttered every time Cas went back in, and it all mixed together in Cas’s head. 

Satisfied Dean had adjusted just fine, Cas pushed himself up again so he was back above Dean. 

“What’re you—’’ Dean started, confused as Cas pulled back as much as he could without surfacing. Cas didn’t have a name for the expression laid across Dean’s face other than “completely gone”. He looked dazed, almost completely out of it like Cas yanked him back into reality.

They weren’t in Worthington anymore, they weren’t in Kansas, they weren’t even on this planet. The small, delicate thing they had built together that almost shattered that afternoon came back strong, filling the room. 

_Show him, show him—_

_Show him how much you love him._

Cas didn’t answer Dean’s question as he took the legs on either side of him, adjusting so Dean’s angle elevated slightly. 

And slid in once more, faster than the other times.

Dean reacted immediately with a gasp, hooded eyes now wide and aware—and when Cas did it again, to make sure he got the right spot, Dean cried out swear words and Cas’s name, tensing up every time Cas moved in and out. They moved at a more steady pace and the mood shifted from hesitancy and slow exploration to urgent and desperate. 

Every sensation magnified by ten as Cas moved, every sound echoed in his head—heat raced through him, trying to find a release.

At one point, Dean kept saying Cas’s name and half the time Cas didn’t think Dean knew he was doing it. Nails dug into Cas’s side and the heat of the room, their space, their own world blew out of control.

Dean kept trying to draw Cas in closer to him somehow like they would melt together—which Cas didn’t rule out as a possibility. He wished he could get closer, wished there was more—

The image of Dean beneath him so trusting, vulnerable, and completely desperate satisfied Cas’s original goal. 

_Show him_.

They lasted a lot longer than Cas initially predicted, but it did have to end at some point. 

And that _some point_ was when Dean threaded his hands in Cas’s hair and clenched his fist like Cas had done to him the other night. It was a small gesture, a small memory, but it pulled the right strings and snapped the tension inside Cas.

He shoved his face into the pillow by Dean’s neck and stayed buried in him, unable to stop, trying to get in even more, and gave Dean his favorite thing: unbridled swearing.

Cas knew Dean could hear the muffled _fuck fuck fuck fuck_ and was rewarded with Dean coming shortly thereafter with a shout, tensing all around him, holding him close in every way possible and not letting go as they rode the wave out together.

Cas let his body do what it needed to do, staying in as long as he could, and Dean let him as they came down together. He could feel Dean’s heart racing against his own, and for a minute, it really did feel like they had blended together, sharing the same breath, the same heartbeat—shared everything. 

And Cas didn’t want to let go. 

But, before he lost the rest of his strength, he had to move.

Sighing, Cas lifted himself up and onto his knees, easing himself out and wincing. Dean hissed and shifted, loosening his legs as Cas completely backed away. 

His scalp ached and Cas held a hand up to fix his hair when he realized—

“Did you come without—”

Dean nodded, eyes heavy and breathing hard with a smirk on his face, “Hard not to with how you were knocking me at the end there.”

A strange sense of pride filled Cas as he smiled, leaning back down again to run his mouth over Dean’s stomach—unable to stop himself, wanting to make the magic in the room last as long as possible. 

“You trying to get me t’go again already?” Dean asked, sounding hoarse and exhausted.

Cas didn’t say anything because yes, he’d like to go again, as soon as possible. 

But he too felt the exhaustion, energy all but spent in the afternoon sun and now in bed. His limbs grew heavy and he crawled over to the left side of the bed as Dean moved to make room for him. 

Cas didn’t want to sleep—he wanted this to happen ten, twenty more times that night, as many times as needed to commit Dean’s desperate, eager face to memory.

“Y’did good,” Dean mumbled as he fought to stay awake. “Almost too good.” 

_I can’t live without this_

Cas smiled and kissed him before he too drifted off. 

“You too.” The real words he wanted to say sat at the tip of his tongue and he kept his mouth closed as Dean pulled Cas in even closer, drifting off to sleep. 

Cas woke first curled around Dean, blinking at the morning sunlight beaming directly into the room. The air conditioning still wasn’t on, but the opened window ushered in a cool breeze. 

A chill ran over Cas as he realized the sheets and comforter had all been pushed down onto the floor. He couldn’t care enough to get up to retrieve them. 

It was just them there, in that moment, as Cas felt Dean breathe against him, he didn’t want to disturb any of it. The minute he got out of bed would be when their lives would come hurtling back at them, and the minute they got out of bed was the minute life and reality would come hurtling back at them. 

Cas thought about the previous afternoon for only a moment before shutting it out of his mind completely, hugging Dean closer to him. If he held tight enough, maybe he wouldn’t have to let go at all, and none of the problems that awaited them would manifest.

To combat the intrusive thoughts, Cas closed his eyes again—he pretended they weren’t in Dean’s room, in his house, in Worthington. Instead, they were in their own home, their own room, somewhere maybe on the east coast, looking at an entire day with nothing to do but stay in bed. 

Where no one could find them. 

Dean shifted slightly and his hips moved backward against Cas. It wasn’t desperate or needy, but a greeting and a question. 

“You awake?” Cas asked, still too scared to let go. 

Dean nodded his head as he reached behind him, tapping Cas to gain his bearings before slipping his hand between them. Cas had to close his eyes again as Dean shifted himself forward a little more, guiding Cas to brush against him. Dean had to be sore, Cas knew that much, but when he reached a hand down and felt where to go, Cas easily slipped a finger, then another, into Dean.

Dean automatically rocked his hips back again, wanting Cas to do more. He wasn’t fully awake with his eyes still closed, but as Cas slid inside once more, a small, serene smile came to his face. 

Cas wanted to capture that moment so he could hold it close forever, no matter where he did or where he went. 

They moved together slowly, lazy, with no harsh thrusts, cursing, or desperation of the night before. Dean kept his eyes closed but grabbed Cas’s hand and pulled it over to hold against his chest. The peaceful nature of the morning contrasted with how fast Dean’s heart raced under Cas’s palm. 

He bit the inside of his cheek, almost hard enough to bleed when they both came, again at almost the exact same time with gasps of air and slowly rocking back and forth. 

Cas wanted to say it so badly and the words had almost escaped him at that moment. To give his mouth something else to do, Cas placed soft kisses on the back of Dean’s neck.

It felt like an eternity since an honest prayer came to Cas, guilt, and shame over the years preventing him from finding the right words, or proper frame of mind. 

But laying there, words came all on their own, and Cas didn’t stop them. 

_Please let me be with him, Please let me be with him, please let him see what I see, please let us stay together, please let us have a chance, a future, please let him see what I see, please don’t make me go—_


	13. Thirteen

For the first time, Michael was there waiting for Cas when he got back. 

He looked nothing short of an irritated parent with their arms crossed, one leg out, and their face stony and unyielding. It was like Cas had missed some invisible curfew. 

“Where were you last night?” Michael asked.

Michael had asked the question before but took no interest in Cas’s answer. He could have said he went to Mars and Michael would have just nodded his head. 

Now Cas had to come up with a convincing lie—something he’s failed at spectacularly over the last few weeks.

“I took the telescope out again,” he said, trying to keep his expression even and not breathe too hard or even blink too much. “There was supposed to be a meteor shower.”

Narrowing his eyes, Michael took a deep breath and Cas braced himself. 

“That’s not true. Try again,” Michael said. 

But Cas knew better than to give in just like that. 

“I told you the truth. It’s still in my car if you wanted to see,” Cas answered, keeping his tone light. 

“You went straight from the Grays out into the middle of the field mid-afternoon, waited five hours to see a meteor shower, and then decided to not come home until nine in the morning?”

Cas’s ears began ringing again as he tried to cobble together a story in the heat of the moment. 

“I just went driving around after Hannah. I had dinner and breakfast in Aurora and just—,” Cas trailed off not knowing where he was going with his lie. His heart rate was picked up, knowing he missed a detail somewhere—

“And you decided to ignore your phone the whole time?” Michael asked, gesturing to it in Cas’s hand, “We’ve been trying to call you.”

“We?” Cas looked down at his phone which he didn’t realize until now was dead.

“Hannah and I. You were supposed to head out to breakfast with her this morning.”

Cas frowned, confused.

“I didn’t—she didn’t mention that yesterday when I saw her,” Cas countered.

“She tried calling you and left a message.”

“Well I didn’t get it. Bad service out there.”

Cas held his breath, hoping he’d get away with his lie. He expected a challenge from Michael but got none. 

Michael cleared his throat and grabbed a briefcase waiting for him on his desk. 

“I’m meeting Zachariah for wedding details, I’ll be back later,” Michael said, walking past Cas without a glance.

Heart still hammering in his chest, Cas ran up to his room as he heard the engine start outside. The countdown clock, muted for several hours, had started up again.

By the time he reached his room, Cas couldn’t catch his breath, heart pounding in his ears. The ringing also returned.

He closed the door, locked it for good measure, and leaned against it. Closing his eyes, he pressed a hand against his chest trying to calm down. It felt like someone had a hand wrapped around his throat and he couldn’t swallow. 

Everything from yesterday afternoon came flooding back into his mind with a vengeance—annoyed at being ignored for so long. The tangled web of paths and futures tumbled down from his head to the pit of his stomach. Each question raced by so fast he had no time to stop and think. 

Cas tried taking in a deep breath with difficulty. Then again. And again—

 _You’re not gonna figure everything out by panicking_ , he told himself as he opened his eyes, staring out the window in front of him. The voice was correct, Cas knew it, but it didn’t stop his racing mind. 

Pushing himself off the door, he walked over to his bed to plug his phone in, trying to get the rational side of his logic back when he looked up next to his desk and saw the calendar.

Despite having a few days to go, it had already been flipped to August. 

On his birthday, the 9th, a red circle with a giant H in the middle. 

He hadn’t done that. 

The clock in his head shifted into overdrive, adjusting now for the time he had left. 

10 days. 

Before the panic could surge ahead once more, Cas grabbed his keys and bolted from his room. 

He had to talk to someone. Anyone. 

Dean had to talk to someone, anyone.

His first instinct, brought on by habit, was to call Cas but it wouldn’t have been great if Dean called Cas to talk about Cas. 

Dean needed someone else. 

He hadn’t moved from his bed in nearly a half-hour. Once Cas had left earlier, Dean meandered back into the house in a daze. The energy of the place shifted, but he couldn’t determine how.

He had gone into his room with the intention of getting dressed but instead, all he did was sit on his bed and continue to space out. 

When he turned to his right, he saw where both pillows had been hastily thrown back into place. Dean reminded himself he had to wash the sheets that day. 

For a while, he sat there, not able to take his eyes off of where they both had been sleeping that morning, his brain was trying to process everything and yet nothing at the same time. 

It was all too overwhelming. 

For over a week now, every single moment together had been building and building to this inevitable moment. 

That morning, as he tried to wake up, feeling Cas wake behind him, Dean tried his damndest to pretend they were somewhere else. Anywhere else; pretending it wasn’t his room in his family’s home, wasn’t in Worthington—they were on their own, in their own space—

Dean had needed more, something more to keep the dream going before they were forced to go back into the real world. He had reached for Cas, who responded in kind, already knowing what to do. Throughout it, much like the night before, Dean tried to keep some semblance of sense in his head. 

Otherwise, he was going to say it. 

He didn’t even want to _think_ it but since Thursday night, three little words that held colossal weight and meaning had nestled themselves deep inside him. 

And Dean almost let them slip too many times to casually push aside. 

What didn’t help was Cas coming to confess to things that Dean already had been beating himself up over for days. 

_How far do they go?_

_Do I risk it?_

_They’ve known each other for a little over three weeks—how fast is too fast?_

_Does Cas even feel the same?_

Dean suspected maybe yes on the last one since Cas was the first one to ask about their future together, but Dean has learned not to take anything for granted. 

And then there was the land development. 

Deep down Dean knew he wouldn’t be able to stay in Worthington forever. It just wasn’t something he wanted to acknowledge any time soon, but Michael had taken care of that. 

After their conversation, after Cas left that morning, Dean’s brain tried to sort through the mess as much as possible. It eventually came up with two conflicting problems, contradictory to each other:

Stay in Worthington, fighting against Michael and Zachariah and by default, Cas; dragging himself through court, just to protect what he never thought he had to defend in the first place.

Or leave with Cas, if that’s what he had been getting at during their talk in the pool. And if he does—not only would Michael win, Dean had no proof or confirmation that a relationship that was three weeks old would keep them on solid ground into the future. 

And no doubt Michael would try to find them. 

Dean’s brain boiled it down even further as he stared at his ceiling an hour after Cas left:

Risk it all in Worthington, or risk it all with Cas.

Neither had a guaranteed stable outcome.

The thoughts scared him in many ways, too many ways to count. But his brain kept kicking out scenarios on both sides, soon morphing into glimpses of the past week together with Cas—how he looked at the club, how he felt that night while they both battled through their insecurities, the _entire_ night in the back of the truck (Dean could still feel that one in his mouth), last night, that morning—all their conversations, all their games and flirting, how Cas looked smiling in the sun—

Dean took a deep breath while still on his bed and took out his phone, thinking for a moment before he scrolled down a few messages and opened the text chat for Benny. 

It was early, but shit, Dean needed a drink. 

“You look spooked,” Benny said casually, taking a sip from his glass. 

The town was lucky in the sense they had a bar that opened from 10 a.m., lasting to 2 a.m. Dean wasn’t sure how they swung it, but like most things, he figured Michael was somehow involved. Dean had never needed to utilize the place’s early hours until that morning. 

He and Benny ordered some drinks and found a corner booth away from the late-morning alcoholics at the counter.

“I am spooked. I’m very much spooked,” Dean answered, tapping his fingers on his glass, not drinking any of its contents.

Benny didn’t ask why but just stared at Dean, waiting for him to say something. 

“Cas stayed over last night,” Dean said, keeping his voice low as someone shuffled into the booth behind him.

“Didn’t you guys spend the other night together too?” Benny asked, looking uncomfortable and not looking Dean in the eyes and Dean didn’t blame him. It was hard for Dean to see Benny drive up in the truck that morning. 

“Yeah but last night was like—” Dean glanced around, “together, together. You know?

Benny nodded, looking pensive for a moment before taking another sip. 

“Was it—I don’t know—good?” 

Dean sighed and picked up a napkin, starting to rip little pieces off, “It was great—like, I obviously don’t want to go into details—“

“Thank you.”

“—but like, it was a first for both of us and I don’t know where the guy gets his confidence from. I’ll tell you what if I had been like that with what’s her name—Lisa—the first time--?” Dean rambled a little, shaking his head. 

“So you’re saying he’s like a savant in the bedroom?”

Dean stared at the table, thinking.

“I mean it takes two to tango, and I’m sure I wasn’t that bad either—”

“You had experience though.”

“Not with what we did,” Dean countered. 

Benny shrugged, taking another sip, finishing his drink. “Experience is experience is experience. If he hasn’t had any and was that good? That’s pretty impressive.”

Dean began picking at the napkin under his untouched drink. It didn’t feel like he had any experience at all now. Not with this. Not with any of this. Benny was wrong. Not all experience was the same experience. Dean had never been _there_ before. He never felt the need to say _I love you_ after sex. He had never before felt like he had after their nights together. 

It wasn’t the same at all.

“Did you drag me all the way out here to tell me you got laid?” Benny asked, breaking the silence. 

Dean sighed again and pushed the napkin and drink away. 

“He has to get married,” Dean said, keeping his eyes on the table. The words sounded wrong in his mouth.

Benny paused and Dean glanced up to see him frowning in confusion.

“ _Has_ to get married?” Benny repeated. 

Dean leaned forward a little, still aware of the man sitting behind them. 

“Michael and that creepy Gray dude forced him into this into this arranged marriage straight out of the seventeen-hundreds or something,” Dean whispered. 

Benny looked disgusted. 

“Is that still legal?” 

Dean nodded, “I guess so. I mean I guess Cas can walk away if he wants—but—I mean and even if it wasn’t legal, that man runs this town, you think anyone is gonna say ‘boo’?”

“That’s gross.”

“Yes it is, but it’s happening, or I mean he has to propose by next month or something.”

It took Benny only a moment or two before Dean saw his face fall into an “oh” expression. Dean pressed on;

“And yesterday before all the—you know— he was telling me that he feels like his back is against the wall and that he can’t decide what to do and basically—basically he was asking me if we had some kind of future to rely on instead of this stupid thing he has to do,” Dean paused, finally taking a drink of water. “And now his stupid family and that other stupid family served me Friday morning for that development thing I told you about.”

Benny paused.

“So—you’re freaked because he’s basically asking if you two can stick together through this so you two can escape this Shakespearian bullshit?”

Dean nodded, “Yeah.”

“Why is that scary?” 

Dean gave Benny a moment to try and work that answer out for himself, but it never came. 

“Don’t you think it’s too fast? I’ve only known him for like, a month,” Dean explained, trying not to sound childish, “And what about my house? What about my home, and you guys? I told my dad I would stay, it was the last thing I said—”

“And he’s six feet in the ground, Dean,” Benny cut him off, his agitation showing. “This isn’t the first time you’ve used him as an excuse, and I’m telling you man, you gotta stop.”

Dean took another sip of his drink and shut his mouth. 

“As for the other thing, I don’t think it’s too fast at all. Is it common that two people move into a place after only a month? Not really. But you two seem to work together—“

“How do you know that,” Dean interjected. It wasn’t a question. “You’ve hardly seen us together.”

“Because you never shut up about him—let me finish,” Benny said. Dean looked back down at the table. “You were almost ready to move in with Lisa and you gave serious consideration with Cassie—I mean that was the whole reason we had gone to that party in the first place.”

“And I had decided _no_ ,” Dean reminded Benny, “Because I didn’t think—”

“Yeah, you didn’t think. You’re the only person I know who over thinks and yet doesn’t think at all half the time,” Benny shook his head and got up from the table to get a refill. Dean sat there, watching the condescension run down his drink and onto the torn up napkin, head full of white noise.

Benny sat back down and held up a finger as Dean made to say something. 

“I’m not finished. I want you to think about this, because I’m pretty sure this is the biggest issue with you right now, but correct me if I’m wrong,” Benny started, looking Dean straight in the eye, “Forget about his family, forget about your family, forget about any animosity you have to his brother, forget what your father had said about you—”

Benny paused.

“If you were just you, and he was just himself—would you be having this problem right now? If you were just two random, average guys, would you be freaking out as much as you are?”

The question took Dean aback. He sat, staring at Benny, trying to work it out in his head.

Would he be having as much of a problem?

_No_

But it didn’t change anything. That underlying, unspoken fear that had been with Dean since the first day they met had queued up in the back of his mind, waiting to take a swing. 

“That doesn’t help,” Dean eventually answered. “He’s still from that family—and you know them, you know what they did. I’ve known Cas for such a short amount of time–”

Benny shook his head again and waved his hand.

“I don’t know much about him but it doesn’t seem like he’s the kind of guy who can lie easily, or put on a happy face,” he said, looking at Dean with his eyebrows raised. “Am I right?”

Dean paused, then nodded, still frowning, looking back down at the table. 

“I know that face,” Benny said. “You have to stop letting your past get in the way of your future.”

Dean rolled his eyes and took another sip of his now warm drink. 

“You sound like a fortune cookie.”

But Dean knew it was true. Benny stared at him, a little too serious now. 

“Okay, all the money on the table now,” Benny started, sitting up straight. “Think about it real hard: Can you see yourself going on into the future, after all you’ve been through in the last few weeks without him there?”

Dean sat back in his seat, the question sinking into him. He thought about all of it. Every minute of every moment they spent together. He thought about what he dreamed of that morning, being in their own space, safe from everything else that threatened them.

He saw Cas’s concerned face last night, not doing anything Dean was uncomfortable with, reassuring him—how Cas looked the morning after their night in the field as Dean watched him wake. It was the most peaceful Cas had ever looked. 

Dean inhaled sharply and looked back up at Benny with his answer.

Benny gave him a sad smile, happy Dean figured it out but—

“If you don’t act now, then you’re never going to see him again.”


	14. Fourteen

The garden that Joshua attended to still had some color to it despite the lack of rain. Cas never understood how he did it, and Joshua only explained it as “God’s will for it to live”.

When he arrived at the church, he found Joshua outside weeding with a sunhat on with jeans and a cotton button-down. He looked strange without his vestments. 

When Cas approached, Joshua didn’t look up, instead handing him a garden tool. 

“Dig. You Charlestons need to get your hands dirty in the right way,” he said. Cas obeyed and sat on the ground next to him, still coming down from his panic-induced adrenaline rush on the way there.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Joshua eventually asked, throwing a few weeds in a bucket.

Cas paused his digging, a weed still in his hand. He didn’t know where to start, or what to focus on first. 

“My back is against the wall,” Cas eventually said, digging at the ground a little harder than needed. 

“Michael?”

Cas nodded, tossing a rock out from the dirt. 

“The proposal is in ten days, and I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“What about your—“

“That’s the other problem,” Cas cut Joshua off and tossed some smaller weeds into his bucket. “I had tried talking to him yesterday about a few things, including the—you know—future, and it didn’t go so well.”

Joshua stopped working, but Cas kept going, not looking at him. 

“And it’s not like I want to force anyone into a relationship, but in this current situation, it’s frustrating. I don’t know what to do. And I don’t want to be with someone who is uncomfortable being with me.”

“What was—Dean? What was his reasoning for delaying? He knows about the proposal, I’m assuming.”

“His reasons were valid,” Cas answered. “His father was not a kind man, especially once he learned Dean was attracted to other men—he said that’s why it’s hard for him to imagine himself with some like me in the future.”

Joshua was silent for another moment.

“There’s more to the story isn’t there?”

Cas took a deep breath, ripping out another weed.

“I told him how Michael and Zachariah were looking to take over his property—build a strip mall there or something—and he basically didn’t care, that he’d ‘live in a parking lot’.”

He glanced over to Joshua who just sat there, waiting for Cas to continue. Cas sighed and dropped the garden tool. 

“So now it’s down to—do I stay here, where I’d be helping my family destroy Dean’s life, or do I leave—and if I leave—will he come with me? Or will he just stay there and try to fight—I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m… enough, I guess. It’s sounding like I’m not.”

Cas’s fear, the panic, finally spoken into words brought tears with them. He used the back of his hand to wipe them away, keen to not cry in front of Joshua. 

Joshua waited until Cas could take a few deep breaths before handing Cas back his garden tool. 

“Do you love him?”

Hearing the word out loud, the suggestion coming from someone else’s mouth, gave Cas pause. The question sounded different out loud than it did in his own head. It made it more—real. 

But Cas still couldn’t say it out loud. 

“Yes,” Cas answered, not looking at Joshua, not wanting to see that look of pity that Hannah also gave him yesterday. _Poor Cas doesn’t know how to love; poor Cas can’t be loved back_. “Which makes this more frustrating. I’ve never—this hasn’t happened to me before. And I had hoped that ever since we started whatever it was we had, that the thought had crossed Dean’s mind on— I’ve never been in a relationship, but isn’t that one of only two choices? A future or a breakup?”

Joshua paused to see if Cas would continue. When Cas stayed silent, Joshua sighed and sat back on his heels. 

“Well son, you can’t rush someone who doesn’t want to be rushed,” he said, taking his hat off and wiping his forehead. “And I’ve only been in one relationship in my life, and so I believe you’re correct. It’s either a future or no future.”

Cas sighed, feeling another rock hit the bottom of his stomach. 

“But I’m also a big supporter of the notion that some people are worth waiting for,” Joshua said, still watching Cas who now just hit the dirt absentmindedly. Cas couldn’t wait—that was the problem. 

“I only have ten days to wait,” he mumbled, “And I don’t know if this will be resolved by then.” 

All the options, only one of them good, continued to tumble around in his head. And he became increasingly more aware that no one else would choose for him, or give him a divine sign that pointed him in the right direction. 

“Have you lost your faith, Cas?” 

The question pulled Cas out of his thoughts in shock as if Joshua could read his mind.

He thought about his prayer that morning, how he kept repeating his wishes—but with doubts, with his uncertainty and indecision, he didn’t know how far it went.

Cas shook his head, pulling up another rock. Joshua leaned over and stilled his hands.

“I’m not just talking about God, Cas, he’ll be there whenever you’re ready. I mean faith in people.”

Cas paused, frowning, “I don’t know if I ever had it.”

“But you had it in Dean,” Joshua shot back, “You had it enough in Dean that you trusted him with your heart and you developed a wonderful thing in a short amount of time.”

And that was true. Cas couldn’t deny that. If he went off of the standard definition of faith, Cas took a chance on Dean from the first day and each and every time they met after. He had faith when they had first started talking, ignoring the warnings from his brother—he had faith at the bonfire when they both divulged their secrets to each other despite only knowing each other for a few days. Cas had faith when they went to Kansas City when they went out to the field, and the previous night when he had faith Dean cared about Cas just as much as Cas cared for him. They had faith in each other—at least Cas hoped Dean had faith in him. 

“If anything, I advise holding onto that faith with Dean,” Joshua said, picking his garden tool back up. “You thought you had a plan when you were younger, and it didn’t come to fruition. Clearly, God didn’t mean for you to go down that path, and instead put this young man in front of you.”

“But what if it happens again?” Cas asked, voicing his fears. “What if this path fails too? What do I do when I have to propose to Hannah?” 

Joshua shrugged and went back to digging, “There’s nothing, realistically, stopping you from not doing it. And your mission right now is to show this young man just how much you love him and want to be with him so he understands it’s not as much of a scary jump as he thinks.”

“What do you mean?”

“Son, I think at the end of it all—there is no point in worrying over things you can’t change. No one knows one hundred percent of the time the proper answer to ensure a prosperous future,” Joshua said, “In times like these, you have to ask yourself if you have faith in yourself to make the choice that, even if uncertain, would ensure you at least some modicum of happiness. 

Cas sighed, ripping out more weeds, his mind spinning and twisting every which way with Joshua’s words. 

Joshua sighed. “Cas, look at me.”

Cas turned, but did not see pity—Joshua looked determined. 

“If you have faith in him, you have to trust he will make the decision that would make him the happiest as well—and trust that he will realize his faith in you.”

Nodding, Cas processed Joshua’s words as they went back to working in silence, the voice from last night now back in his head. 

_Show him_.

The two drinks Dean wound up having that morning did nothing to steady his nerves and by the time he returned home, just before one in the afternoon, he was almost shaking. 

He and Benny had lapsed into a small catch-up conversation for the rest of the time they were there with Benny trying his hardest to put a smile on Dean’s face. 

But Dean couldn’t shake the warning Benny had given him earlier.

_You’re gonna lose him. You’re gonna lose him forever._

_Can you picture your life going forward without him in it?_

It was on the drive home Dean came to terms with how repetitive and stagnant his life had become. He didn’t always want to stay in Worthington. When he was younger he had dreams, aspirations—details he couldn’t even remember anymore. 

Dean only existed in the town. He didn’t live there. Every day he’d float through town like a ghost that just couldn’t let go. No one cared about him, no one asked him how his day went, no one sat around bonfires with him and just talked with him. 

He had only two friends and a job he only half-tolerated.

Deep down, Dean already knew that his time, whether he liked it or not, was expiring in Worthington.

On his deathbed, his dad had asked him to stay, to keep their legacy going somehow, not letting old grudges die hard. Dean almost didn’t agree, but his father had looked so lost in the last few years of his life—and it _was_ because of the Charlestons, with a fraction of the fault falling on Dean. 

In the end, Dean had agreed to stay, ensuring his father he’d keep the house, the property—everything… not realizing he was falling into the same trap his father was, and his father before that, and his father before that—

Dean kept up the act, kept up the party lines, kept stirring the pot to try and make Michael’s life a hassle.

 _But why_ , Dean had asked himself as he pulled into his driveway that afternoon. _Why?_

Until that moment, he didn’t give much thought as to why. 

But when Benny put forth the hypothetical Dean had been trying to avoid, asked Dean if he could go through the rest of his life without Cas, without lazy mornings together, without bonfire confessionals, without their games, and without that smile—

Something shifted.

But it was a terrifying shift, one that unseated much of what Dean had been led to believe and learn throughout the course of his life thus far.

After the bar, Dean stood in his kitchen for nearly ten minutes, hands braced against the moveable island in the middle of the room, just thinking.

They both wanted each other—even needed each other—but was that enough for a stable future?

 _Do you care?_ _Do you honestly care?_

Dean left the kitchen to sit in the living room, turning on the TV for some kind of background noise or distraction, needing his thinking to stop for a little while. He glanced at the fireplace mantle below the TV and his eyes fell on the photo of Sam at thirteen, a mile-wide smile on his face, holding a fish that looked almost as big as he was. 

Sam got lucky. Sam read the writing on the wall at an early age and as soon as he could, he booked it to California with a girl he had met in his final months of high school—

Dean’s thoughts trailed off, staring at the photo. 

It took a moment for Dean to snap to, digging out his phone and texting Sam if he was up or available. A pang of guilt hit him when he saw the last time they had texted was on Sam’s birthday months ago. 

Sam immediately answered “Yes” and Dean almost dropped the phone trying to get to the call icon.

It rang three times before Sam picked up. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Sam answered, sounding confused. If they hadn’t texted in months, then it had been nearly a year since they spoke by phone. 

Dean paused, realizing he was about to dump a shit ton of problems onto Sam’s lap when he did nothing to deserve it. 

He wanted to ask how Sam was doing, how life was getting on in California—but Dean also didn’t have the time. A countdown had started in his head.

“Hey—hey, nothing much. How about you?”

“Not much. It’s so hot here, even going to the beach is like, whatever.”

There was a brief, awkward pause before Dean sighed.

“I got a question for you, and feel free to tell me if this is one of those times that I crossed the line and you don’t want to talk about something.” 

“Okay—sounds ominous.”

“It’s not, but just—I don’t really know where to start,” Dean said, annoyed at how nervous he sounded, even to himself. They don’t talk about these things.

“Can I ask you about Jessica?”

A pause.

“Why? What about her?” Sam immediately switched from curious to serious, and Dean could almost _see_ him put his “therapist” face on. 

Along with anything too deep or too personal, Jessica and Sam leaving wasn’t something Dean discussed during the times they _did_ talk. The day he had left wasn’t good for either of them. 

Sam had been working out a secret plan with his girlfriend of three months, Jessica, who was facing a bleak future of a Catholic university and the desire of her parents to become a good, blonde, dutiful housewife. Dean liked Jessica the one or two times he had met her. Sam didn’t like to bring her around the house that much, and Dean couldn’t blame him. 

But now, as Dean forced himself to remember that night, he also saw the similarities of their situation.

Dean just had to be straightforward. 

“What gave you the stones to bounce from here with her? Like, I know you two had applied to the same school but—“

“Dean, what’s going on?” Sam cut Dean off, still sounding concerned, still sounding way too serious.

“Just—nothing. I mean, something but I can explain more later, I just need help deciding something and you already went through it.”

Dean knew it was a shitty explanation but Sam indulged him anyway.

“I mean I don’t know—it was her idea. We had been talking about it but both of us didn’t think it would actually happen, especially if we weren’t going to get into the same college. You remember we did that whole thing in secret.”

Dean remembered and didn’t like to dwell on that night much. For months after it happened, Dean had to force himself not to pick up the phone and ask why Sam didn’t bother asking if Dean had wanted to leave as well. 

“But I went over like, a week before we left and she had gotten into a big fight with her parents who had seen some of our text messages—so we pretended to break up but before we did we sent an email kinda highlighting how we were just going to leave. If people knew we were going to, they would have stopped us.”

Or asked to go with you, Dean thought, picking at the worn fabric on the couch.

“You decided a week before you left?” Dean asked, astonished, “I thought it was months before.”

“We talked about it but it was before we got our acceptance letters—then two months later that fight with her parents happened, and a week after that we just left.

“But like—how did you know it was going to work?” Dean asked, picking at a spot on the sofa. “You didn’t have that much money and she would have gotten cut off by her parents. How did you know you two were gonna, you know—stick with it?”

Dean heard Sam sigh over the phone followed by a moment or two of silence. 

“I don’t know—I guess we didn’t really think about that,” Sam explained, “To me, the fear of not being able to see her for probably the rest of my life outweighed any other consequence. I know it sounds—very stupid but I just kinda went with what I felt was right.”

The words layered on top of Benny’s question from earlier, matching up almost perfectly. 

“Well… I guess that’s what I needed to hear,” Dean said, staring unfocused at his hand, still picking at a loose thread. His words came automatically as the truth he needed pushed through the noise in his head. 

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” 

It was Dean’s turn to sigh as he lifted himself off the couch and wandered to the fridge for a drink. 

“Well, make yourself comfortable because this is gonna take a while.”


	15. Fifteen

There were three hundred and seventy dots on his ceiling that immediately surrounded the light. Cas counted them one by one beginning from the inside, circling outward. When Cas got to four hundred, he lost his place. 

Not that he cared that much. 

He had been lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to sort everything out in his head. 

The decision of what to do had started to become more clear to him, but lingering questions and doubts kept Cas confused.

It really just came down to if Cas was scared to leave, or if he thought he could make it on his own without any help from his family or name. 

Cas had traveled off his road map years ago, uncertain where to go, trying to find his way back—

He didn’t know how to balance a checkbook, didn’t even remember his social security number. He had one bank account, untouched, but no idea if it could get him by. He didn’t know what products to use to clean a bathroom, didn’t know how to cook at all, and was overall useless when it came to ensuring his survival without housekeepers, Michael, and the family’s deep pockets. 

_I can learn_ , Cas kept thinking to himself, counteracting the voice hissing at him that he was useless.

Over the course of an hour, while staring at the ceiling, Cas moved closer and closer to his decision.

The other sticking point, Dean—Cas understood what Joshua had been saying, but the just thought of Dean choosing not to come was more terrifying than the fact Cas didn't know how to clean a bathroom.

For every scenario Cas’s mind imagined for him, away from Worthington, a duplicate spun off showing Cas all alone.

In his freshman year of high school, he had met a boy who had come from the northern coast of Maine. He showed Cas photographs of his house as well as a beach just down the street. It was the photo of the beach that Cas kept as a memory deep inside his head. It was standing on the beach on a gloomy-looking day with storm clouds moving in from the Atlantic. It was supposed to be a photo of a woman smiling, keeping her sunhat on—but the camera instead focused on a cliff in the background. A smaller house, probably a vacation one, sat near the edge, surrounded by pine trees, one of them crooked. 

Cas couldn’t tell exactly what the house looked like, but it didn’t matter. Every time things had gotten overwhelmingly bad for him in the years after, he would think about that house, what it must look like inside, and the peacefulness that came with listening to the waves roll in all day and night long.

Now laying on his back, staring at the ceiling, Cas decided he should seek that house out if he left—when he left. 

It used to bring comfort for Cas, thinking about rattling around that house on his own, no one to bother him or interfere with his life.

But now the thought only brought sadness and worry. He didn’t want to be alone there anymore.

After several more minutes of thought, Cas concluded that whether he was on his own or with Hannah, he would always be alone and isolated. 

But if he stayed in Worthington he wouldn’t only just be ruining his life, but Hannah’s and Dean’s as well.

If he was going to be unhappy, he may as well keep it contained to him and him alone. 

Cas sighed and rubbed his face as his phone buzzed, trying to wake himself up a little and focus. He sat up to see who messaged him, not expecting to see Dean’s name.

3:40 p.m.

**Are you busy?**

3:41p.m.

_No. What’s going on?_

3:43 p.m.

**Come downstairs.**

Cas frowned and looked at his door. 

3:45 p.m.

_What?_

3:46 p.m.

**Come downstairs.**

Confused, Cas wandered out of his room and down to the ground floor. Dean wasn’t there. Cas made to text him again before realizing where Dean was.

Dean sat at the table in the garden kitchen with two cans of soda and a bag of chips. Cas wandered into the room, even more confused, now worried.

“I parked like, three streets away so I don’t think Michael will see my car,” Dean said as Cas approached, reading his face.

“Why are you here though?” Cas asked, heading to the open chair but not wanting to sit down yet. 

Dean looked at his lap and took a deep breath. 

“I wanted to apologize for how I acted yesterday.”

Cas paused before sitting down at the chair, facing Dean. 

“I’m sorry too,” Cas responded. 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, I understand the position you’re in.”

“Well, then you don’t have anything to be sorry for either. None of this is your fault.”

“It’s not yours either.”

The two lapsed into an awkward silence and Cas picked at his thumbnail.

“I’ve been thinking—“

“I’ve been thinking—“

They both started at the same time, looking back up at each other. They fell silent again with small smiles and Dean waved his hand.

“You go first, your house.”

Cas hesitated, unsure how to proceed.

“I know you say I have nothing to be sorry for, but I do. I’m sorry that I dumped all of this on your shoulders, I’m sorry I made my problems yours, I’m just sorry.”

When he glanced back over, he saw a deep frown etched into Dean’s face. No pity, just sadness.

“I’ve been afraid of stepping out of line my whole life, and it took meeting you to realize that I don’t have to do everything I’m told.”

Cas tried to offer a small smile as he looked back down at his hands.

“I’m going to start packing my things tonight, will probably leave here by tomorrow,” Cas finally said out loud, both to himself and for Dean. 

The declaration existed now. Cas couldn’t put it back in the box.

He couldn’t look back up at Dean, he didn’t want to see his reaction—didn’t want to face the disappointment, praying to anyone who wanted to hear—

_I’m willing to put it all on the line, please come with me, please come with me, say you’ll come with me._

“Cas,” Dean said after a moment of silence. “Cas look at me.”

Cas sighed and looked up at Dean, who had softened his face with a small smile.

“If you have any extra room in your car, I was hoping I could go with you.”

Prayers answered, Cas sat back in his chair, trying to process Dean’s statement. He had to hear it again—just to make sure what Dean said was real.

“What?”

A full smile bloomed on Dean’s face, amused by Cas’s reaction.

“I said I would like to go with you if that was still an option.”

Cas still didn’t move, too scared that if he did he’d wake up from whatever dream he slipped into while laying on his bed. 

“Are—you sure?” he asked, hesitant like that one question would throw everything off.

Dean nodded, still looking fearful but with a little more confidence.

“I really—I couldn’t go through the rest of my life with you not in it,” Dean explained, “And I’m sorry that I was too scared to acknowledge that. I should have said this last Sunday.”

Cas’s heart soared hearing that confession and warmth flooded him head to toe. They _were_ on the same page—just didn’t want to acknowledge it out of their own fear. This could have been sewed up a week ago. 

But at Cas looked at Dean’s face, falling back into a sad, thoughtful frown, worry took over once more.

“You’re still scared of something.”

Dean didn’t look away, he didn’t sigh, he didn’t try to avoid the accusation.

“My dad used to work here,” Dean said, voice quiet. Cas’s stomach turned over, contrasting with his elation just a moment before. “He was hired at some sort of attempt at reconciling, I don’t know. It was for about ten years—he started when I was about seven or something. He did odds and ends things, kept the property going, fixed the cars, that kind of stuff.”

Cas tried to think back to when he came home from school for those ten years. They had several housekeepers. But Cas realized he had never seen a photo of Dean’s father. 

“I don’t know what happened, but I guess—I guess a couple thousand dollars in a book and a few other items were taken from your house. Your dad and Michael blamed _my_ dad and fired him that day I think,” Dean continued, frowning at the memory. “I came home from school and he had thrown a few bottles against the wall—he was pissed.”

Doing math in his head, Cas realized, with horror, that Dean was still two years off from his father outing him, still two years away from some kind of visceral reaction that forced Dean back in the closet for five more years. 

“I told Sam to stay at his friend’s house that night. There was no reason for both of us—,” Dean cut himself off, realizing he was about to go into detail. Cas wanted to hear it, but at the same time, was grateful Dean didn’t describe whatever terrors he felt that night. “But basically… basically what happened after was Michael, I was told, went around town, told other people what happened, and in the end, my father couldn’t even get a job mopping floors at the bar.”

Cas wanted nothing more than to lean forward and try to comfort Dean, but he kept his distance. Dean had to get it all out first.

“So I guess—after that, we just kinda got by and there probably wasn’t a day where he didn’t get shit-faced by dinner time,” Dean stared at his hands on his lap. 

Dean’s leg began to bounce and Cas reached over and placed a hand on his knee to get him to stop. 

The story wasn’t finished.

“Dean,” Cas said, trying to get his attention. Dean swallowed hard and looked back up, blinking to try and stop tears from forming. “What exactly is it you’re afraid of?” 

Cas didn’t think Dean would speak that truth, but Dean sighed, shook his head, and wiped a hand over his face. 

“I guess I’m always just nervous I’m gonna wind up like that. He drank himself to death over it all.”

Cas frowned. Dean couldn’t mask his emotions in that moment, and Cas knew the entire story hadn’t been told.

But it wasn’t hard to connect the dots.

“What I’m getting is that you’re not only afraid of winding up like your father,” Cas said, looking at Dean for confirmation. “You’re afraid I’ll turn into Michael, that I’ll treat you like that?”

Dean didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. The expression on his face said it for him and Cas looked away, trying not to show how much it hurt. 

Cas knew that there was always that fear of being like your parents, but never once did he think it would happen to him. He didn’t have the kind of relationship with his father, or really, any of his siblings. Anyone from his family. He wasn’t home enough—they didn’t want him home. 

“Have you felt like this since we met?” Cas asked, hoping Dean didn’t answer. 

Dean looked away. 

“Not—always, or at least not really thinking about it too much, until I started wondering how far this would go.” 

_That’s what held him up,_ Cas realized. He was sure Dean’s father also played a big part—but this was why Dean didn’t want to talk about it. 

“I don’t want you scared and unhappy around me. You and I both know those are no lives to live,” Cas started, struggling to find the adequate words that reflected how badly he needed Dean to understand. “I don’t know how I can reassure you, other than you have my word that I would never turn out like Michael, or Lucas, or Gabriel, or my father. I wish I could fast forward in time and show you, but since I can’t, you’ll have to have some faith in me. You’ll have to trust me. If you can’t, then—”

Dean shook his head and reached out to grab Cas’s hand.

“It’s not—it’s not that. I do trust you, I trust you more than friends I’ve known my whole life,” Dean explained. “It’s just one of those things that has to be worked on overtime or something. Be patient with me. I trust you—you be patient with me.”

_Show him._

Cas nodded and gave Dean’s hand a small squeeze.

“I can do that.”

Dean’s smile now looked more like himself, and Cas returned it. But it took only half a second for it to falter. 

“There’s something still bothering you,” Cas said, again as a statement instead of a question. 

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes, “I mean—It’s my own problem. No one can really solve it. Just the whole business about the house. I told my father right before he died that I’d stay—I’m trying to process that I’m—”

He couldn’t finish the sentence and waved his hand in the air.

The laugh burst out of Cas before he could stop it. Dean jumped, looking alarmed.

“I’m sorry, but that’s ridiculous to me,” Cas said, keeping the smile on his face. “Dean—honestly—are you happy here?”

They both knew the answer to that. 

“No,” Dean answered, a little quiet. He cleared his throat. “No, I’m not.”

“So does it matter you’re the last one leaving? I lived outside of this place for most of my life—it never seemed like a special place to hold on to.” Cas stopped but saw the rebuttal from Dean coming a mile away and held up his hand to stop him. “You staying here for your father also makes no sense. It didn’t sound like he was happy here either. Neither your brother. So what’s keeping you here?”

Dean thought for a second.

“Absolutely nothing.”

They were silent for a moment, allowing the gravity of the moment to settle down on top of them. 

Cas’s emotional rollercoaster came back, first the high of Dean saying he wanted to go, then the low of Dean’s fears—but Cas was back on the incline, feeling almost giddy as he realized what was about to happen. 

They were getting out of there. 

Dean ran his thumb over Cas’s hand, looking down at them, while Cas’s head raced. 

They were going to do this. 

If someone had told Cas from just a month ago as he flew home, trying not to break down on the plane, that he’d be doing this with a person it took no time to fall in love with—Cas would have laughed in their face.

But here they were. 

“So where do we go from here?” Cas asked, almost as a whisper, still afraid of waking up, still afraid of it not being real.

Dean shrugged, now smiling, no longer restrained by fear or uncertainty. 

“I have a lot of shit to pack, but can be fast. Where did you want to go?”

The same images Cas had floating around in his head a half-hour prior, the images of the dream house on a cloudy, miserable coast, alone as he wandered around like a ghost—suddenly brightened with a sun-filled, blue sky day. Days were filled by walks on the beach, not seeing anyone else in sight; a bonfire at night, lazy weekend mornings—

“I have an area in mind up in the northeast—I want to get as far away as possible, and I never liked Florida,” Cas eventually said.

Dean kept his smile, “It sounds like you already know where you want to go.”

“There was a house I saw in a picture once, someone from school showed me. He lived on the northern coast of Maine. He showed me a picture of the beach, but up further north, there was this rocky cliff—there was a house up there. I’m not saying it’s going to be there, or that I know where it is, but—“

“Maine sounds really good actually,” Dean said, sounding thoughtful. “I heard they have good ski resorts.”

“Do you know how to ski?”

“Nope.”

They both laughed, pushing out any last remnants of hesitancy on either of their parts. They had an endless horizon opened up to them with all the options they needed. 

They didn’t really touch the chips as they sat at the table, closer, almost shoulder to shoulder with their phones out and typing out plans. 

Cas explained to Dean that he had some money tucked away in his own personal account, his “don’t touch me” account. 

“How much?” Dean asked, frowning.

“About four hundred and fifty thousand,” Cas said, scrolling through his phone to find Joshua’s number. He looked up when Dean said nothing to find him stunned. “What?”

“You have four hundred and fifty thousand—almost have a million in the bank? Like, dollars-dollars and not like… yen?”

“Yes—it’s not that much but—“

Dean held up his hand and shook his head, closing his eyes, “In what world is that much money not actually that much money?”

Cas stopped, confused, “Well my family’s worth is—”

“Nah, nah nah nah,” Dean interrupted Cas, covering his mouth with his hand, “I don’t even want to know. I just want to let you know that with that kind of money, you could probably buy the entire state of Maine.

Confused, Cas lightly shook his head until Dean removed his hand.

“I don’t understand.”

Dean sighed and slid his phone closer, bringing up a banking app. Once he had the account information up, he showed it to Cas.

“In my checking, I have a hundred bucks. In my savings, I have fifteen hundred. You have a lot of money, Cas. How did you get that?”

Cas glanced at Dean, embarrassed that earlier he didn’t think he had enough money to live off of. He thought he was pretty well-grounded in life despite his family’s wealth. But looking at Dean’s bank account, Cas realized just how off the mark he was.

“My family invested money for me and Gabriel helped me move it to my own name when my father left. It just grew over the years.”

Dean let out a low whistle, “Well, it may not seem like a lot to you, but you ask anyone else in this town and they’d fall to their knees and praise Jesus they got that kind of cash.”

Cas sighed and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hand in frustration.

“Are you telling me I could have left all this time and not worry about the financial repercussions? I thought this wouldn’t last me a month.”

Dean smiled, biting back a laugh.

“You probably should have talked to an accountant.”

“I probably should have talked to an accountant,” Cas confirmed, nodding his head while taking in the numbers. 

Dean let out his laugh and turned Cas’s head so they could look at each other. The bright spark had returned to his eyes. 

“We’ll figure it out,” he assured Cas, who smiled at the use of “we”.

 _We’re really going for it_ , Cas thought, amazed that just 24 hours ago he was convinced he faced a very, very bleak future. 

For the first time in his life, Cas had a prayer answered. 

Dean guided him into a gentle kiss, a welcoming gesture after what felt like a whole week rolled into one day. 

Cas relaxed into it, not having to think if it was his last one, or that they were limited now. He didn’t have to worry about marks or texts or images; no concerns about plausible excuses—

The desire to say those three words that Cas had been choking back for two days came… then went. Now wasn’t the time.

Things had to get done.

_And not in this house._

He broke away and leaned back into his chair before they lost themselves in the moment, almost laughing at the look on Dean’s face.

“Later—I have to call the priest first,” he said, patting Dean’s cheek and going back to his phone. 

“I’m sorry—the what?” 

Cas glanced back over as he hit the dial button and made a shushing motion as the phone rang. He was happy that Joshua, for however old he was, at least invested in a cell phone. 

It took a few rings, Cas hoping Joshua was even around when he finally picked up.

“Cas! I’d ask how are you but I just saw you—”

“About that—I have an update,” Cas glanced at Dean, who watched him, confused.

“Already?”

“Yes,” Cas took a deep breath, “We talked, we’re leaving, and I was wondering if we could use the place for a little bit until we can move on.”

Joshua stayed silent on the other end for a moment before he laughed.

“Well that took no time at all!”

Dean took out his phone and Cas saw him bring up a chat with who he presumed was Benny and Lee.

“Yeah that’s—that’s kind of our theme, I guess,” Cas said, and Dean looked over to him, still confused, mouthing “What?”

Waving his hand, Cas mouthed back, “Later”.

“That’s just fantastic for you Cas I’m happy it all worked out,” Cas could hear the smile in Joshua’s voice. “Of course you can use the cabin—come by whenever to pick up the key. I’m not usually in bed until three in the morning or so—damn insomnia—”

“Alright—thank you, I appreciate it,” Cas felt another weight lifted from his shoulders. “I’ll call you before we get there.”

“God speed, boy,” Joshua said before hanging up. 

Cas put his phone back on the table and sighed with some relief. He hadn’t thought about it until they started laying out their timeline, but Cas had realized staying in a hotel wouldn’t be an option, not for a while. They could keep driving as far as they could in one night but they had to sleep at some point, and Cas didn’t trust that Michael would somehow follow them. 

“What was that about? What’s ‘the place’?” Dean asked, locking his phone. 

“The priest of the church we attend, Father Laurence—though he makes everyone just call him Joshua—told me once he had a family cottage on Table Rock Lake that he only had a chance to get to a few times a year—just to make sure no one broke in. I figured we should stay there for a couple days.”

“Why?”

Cas glanced behind him, paranoid.

“Because Michael and maybe Zachariah will go looking at hotels for us and I don’t think it’s a good idea to stay at one, do you?”

Dean shook his head, now staring at the table and tapping his phone absentmindedly.

“You thought I was calling a priest to get married, weren’t you?” Cas asked.

Dean at first shook his head again—but then nodded. Cas laughed and drew him in for another kiss. 


	16. Sixteen

Only an hour into their planning and they had almost gotten caught.

Cas saw Dean out the side garden gate, their plans solidified for the night, repeated several times just to make sure everything was set in place.

They’d see each other in a few hours, just some time to pack some things up. They’d have to wind up leaving most of it behind, though Cas didn’t have many personal things in comparison to Dean, and when the dust settled, hopefully settled, following their departure, they would come back to pick everything else up, hoping to travel in and out of Worthington without anyone knowing. Cas pinged it at a month. Dean laughed.

Cas voiced his concern overtaking his own vehicle, paranoia kicking up that Michael would somehow be able to track it down. 

The one benefit of not having many things to pack was that Cas wouldn’t have to go through the front door in the middle of the night with eighteen bags. He could fit most of his clothes and the belongings he wanted to take into two smaller suitcases. 

The problem was the telescope. 

They didn’t _need_ to take it, but Cas insisted that if they could find a way to fit it in Dean’s car, then they should—just for the memory of the other night.

Dean had stated that his car was too loud to go anywhere near Cas’s house at that hour, so he would have to park several streets away and help Cas carry the telescope all the way back.

But it would be worth it. It would be so worth it. 

When he closed the garden gate door, leaving it unlocked, Cas buzzed with excitement, eager to get going now—just follow Dean back to his car and leave now. He had a mission now, a purpose, a goal—a path again.

Get out. Get to the coast. 

As Cas walked back into the kitchen to roll up the chip bag, he heard the front door slam upstairs. 

Dread immediately filled Cas, realizing Michael could have very well seen Dean walking. He forced himself to move, continuing to roll the bag up, but his mind raced for a lie, an answer—anything if Michael asked. 

Cas stood still by the pantry, chips in hand, and listened as the footsteps above tracked from the front entryway, past the study, past Michael’s office, past the primary kitchen, all the way to the back part of the house which took Michael through a doorway, and down the old wooden steps into the garden kitchen. Every heavy footfall on every step raised Cas’s anxiety tenfold. 

Michael stopped at the bottom of the steps, looking every bit annoyed and thorny as he did earlier.

“What are you doing down here?” He asked, voice flat. 

“Just wanted a snack,” Cas answered, shaking the chip bag. 

Cas’s phone dinged a few times in a row, and they both turned to look at it. It rested on the table, close to Michael.

All the breath left Cas as he froze, praying to God Michael didn’t decide to go over and read them. He didn’t think from that distance Michael could read the words, and in any case, he had changed Dean’s contact information to just have a car, disco ball, and fire emoji in its place. Just in case for situations like these—

But he could only guess what Dean could have been texting on his way back to his car, trying to start up their game again, hoping to have Cas all wound up by the time they got to Table Rock.

And if Michael _could_ see the notifications—

“I’m home for the rest of the day,” Michael stated, turning away from the phone. “Zachariah is coming over in a few hours to discuss… plans.”

Whatever relief filled Cas as Michael ignored the phone immediately hit a wall of panic.

Plans. 

A shiver ran down his spine as he forced himself not to look at his phone.

“Okay, I’ll be in my room. Call me down when he gets here,” Cas responded, tossing the chips onto the shelf and shutting the pantry door. He swiped his phone off the table as he passed Michael, determined to not look at him, heart racing again.

Chapter fifteen

Michael didn’t bother Cas for nearly four hours. He didn’t come back up the stairs to talk to Cas, didn’t try getting in his room, didn’t try to talk to Cas about proper behavior around Zachariah. Cas dreaded meeting with the man again, trying to swallow the _what ifs_ his anxiety threw at him, thinking about earlier in the week when he pulled Cas into the tv den. 

_What if he tells Michael._

Cas thought back to Michael’s reaction that morning, another spike of panic rushing through him. 

_What if he already told Michael_.

Packing helped distract Cas, even if it took only an hour at most.

Cas had gone through his entire room, not even filling up both suitcases. He had already started to slim down his belongings over the years, expected to live a simple life had he been ordained. 

But even then—even saying what he had thought was important—

Nothing in that held any value to him.

He even decided to leave his bible, a family hand-me-down that had “Phil’s Motel” stamped on the flyleaf.

During the four hours, he and Dean hardly texted.

The three Dean had sent earlier weren’t anything having to do with their game, just a set of emojis; shooting star, fire, and a disco man. Cas had smiled and sent back his own: a wave, house, and a starry night sky. 

As he went around the room, realizing he had nothing there he cared for, he realized also he wasn’t leaving anyone behind—anyone that would miss him anyway. Dean, while he didn’t have many of them, still had some friends in town. 

Trying not to let guilt overrun him, Cas took his phone and typed down in his notes app both Benny and Lee’s name with a reminder. 

**Benny-Lee-forward address once settled. Christmas?**

Cas didn’t want Dean to think he had to leave _everything_ behind.

Cas packed, then repacked just to fill his time, then organized a little more and repacked again. By the end of it, he still had two hours left to go before Zachariah arrived. 

He did send Dean texts then, but just a picture of his bags. 

5:45 p.m.

_This was the easiest packing i’ve ever done_

Dean sent one back a few minutes later, showing a third suitcase stuffed into the trunk.

5:52 p.m.

**How many do you think I can stuff in there?**

5:54 p.m.

_Six_

5:56 p.m.

**Wanna bet o it?**

5:58 p.m.

_Terms? And you didn’t say your number._

6:00 p.m.

 **I’m saying 4, and if you win, i’ll make you dinner tonight**

**if i win then you have to be the one to go get the take out.**

Cas had expected something dirty in response, but what he received he’d argue was so much better. He wanted to see Dean enjoying himself in a place he felt most comfortable.

6:03 p.m.

_Okay you got a deal_

Zachariah arrived just after 8:30 and Cas sat bolt upright in the armchair in Michael’s study, listening to the men greet each other. 

The first thing Zachariah did as he walked into the study was wink at Cas, a smug smile on his face. Cas bit his cheek and looked down at his lap, taking a deep breath. He wanted to scream. 

The three of them sat in the study and Michael poured Zachariah a drink. He didn’t offer Cas one, and Cas would have refused anyway. He needed to keep his mind focused.

“Alright, let’s get down to brass tax here,” Zachariah said after he and Michael dappled in some light talk for a few minutes.

Michael straightened himself in his chair, clearing his throat. Cas kept his eyes on the table.

“I know you have a sense of what would be good for Hannah,” Michael started, gesturing to Zachariah. It was a business meeting. “Why don’t you go first?”

It reeked of desperation. Cas hadn’t seen them interact before then, and could already tell that Michael dislike this man as well. 

_Anything for money_ , Cas thought, frowning.

Zachariah glanced over at Cas, the corner of his mouth slowly lifting up in that disgusting smirk before he looked back to Michael. 

“Well, I think the proposal should be down the pond just beyond your field. She liked that when you two first met,” Zachariah said, nodding his head to Cas. “I think it’s also just a nice bookend. That kind of symbolism means a lot to her. She’s all about that mushy crap.”

Cas kept his frown in place, but something nudged him in the back of his head. Zachariah sounded—off. Too light, too airy. 

“I’m sure you two talked a lot about yourself that day,” Zachariah said, now looking directly at Cas, right in the eyes, the cold smile fully in place. “It’s always wonderful to see when two people have that kind of connection. You never know what kind of things come out on the first meeting.”

Cas froze, trying hard to keep his face absolutely still, unyielding, as Zachariah smiled at him. Wave after wave after wave of panic flooded Cas—surging to his throat, tightening it again.

_He knows._

The lack of breathing brought forth a painful ringing in Cas’s ears as Zachariah continued talking, turning his attention back to Michael, their voices dull and far away.

If Zachariah knew, then Michael—

“I’m sure all the hard work that you put in with building the relationship between you two will pay off,” Zachariah said, looking back over to Cas with fire in his eyes. He wanted Cas and Dean to burn in it. “Who knows what new horizons wait for you.”

“I think—“ Michael began, adjusting himself in his chair, but Cas stood up, almost knocking over a lamp and Michael’s drink. Michael swore, retrieving his glass and moving it away from Cas. “What the hell’s the matter with you? Sit down.”

Cas couldn’t look at either of them and kept his eyes on the ground.

“I have a headache, I’m sorry. I don’t think I drank enough water today,” Cas said lamely, not caring if they bought it. “You can fill me in tomorrow, I just want to go lay down early.”

He didn’t give Zachariah or Michael a chance to talk him out of it before he turned and ran up the stairs. 

Back in his room, Cas closed the door quietly and locked it immediately. For an extra precaution, for his own sanity, he shoved his desk chair under the knob and moved an armchair from across the room in front of that. 

Cas grabbed his phone off the bed table and pulled up Dean’s number, hitting the call icon, hands shaking.

The phone rang, and rang, and rang—Cas closing his eyes, waiting—

“I’m not here right now, you know what to do,” Dean’s voice said, followed by a loud beep.

Cas almost threw his phone. Instead, he tried to inhale as deep as he could, trying to calm himself.

“Hello, it’s me. Please call me back when you get this. Don’t go to the cabin, don’t come here at all tonight. Just go straight to the church. I think Zachariah and Michael know—they definitely know—I don’t know how much, but they know something. I don’t know if they’ll have you tailed if you go to the cabin—but they— just don’t come here—go to the church, they can’t get you there. If you see them just go inside. Joshua won’t let them in. Please call me back,” Cas said in a rush, keeping his voice barely above a whisper. 

He stood still for three minutes, taking in gulps of air, trying to steady himself. No response from Dean. 

Ten minutes passed. 

Still no response. 

Cas sat on the ground with his forehead against the cool wall, needing something, _anything_ to ground him. It wasn’t like Dean to not pick up or respond. 

Taking a few more deep breaths—Cas tried to think about plausible reasons why Dean didn’t call him back or send him a text message. 

_In the bathroom._

_In a different room packing._

_Phone died_

_Rearranging the bags in his car_

The rational, self-reassurance helped Cas calm down and the hand around his throat loosened. 

But as soon as he let his guard down, a darker, more sinister thought invaded. 

_Zachariah got to him_

Michael wouldn’t harm anyone, at least Cas was sure of it—but Zachariah seemed… ruthless.

Cas looked over to the wall by his door where his keys were. 

He couldn’t leave to check on Dean—not yet. 

_Call me back, please._

Back at the bar for the second time that day, Dean sat in the same corner booth with the same drink in hand. 

Both Lee and Benny joined him for a casual, unscheduled farewell party as he explained the situation.

Benny didn’t look shocked when Dean divulged his plans, but Lee’s eyes had widened, looking either shocked or horrified—Dean didn’t care all that much. 

“Doesn’t seem like—it’s too soon?” Lee asked, frowning, glancing at Benny who avoided eye contact. “I think it’s too soon, I don’t think you should go.”

Dean shook his head, “I’m not looking for permission. I’m telling you.”

Lee shifted in his seat, wanting to say more but kept his mouth mercifully shut. 

Despite the surge of adrenaline from earlier, when Dean had gotten back into his car, he realized that he would be leaving _some_ people behind. People who would actually care that he left, Lee clearly being one of them. 

And Dean didn’t have a guaranteed timeline on when he would return.

Walking out of his family’s house for the final time before heading to the bar, car jam-packed with as much as he could shove in there, a strange sense of melancholy settled over him.

He had looked back at the house before he got into the car. It sat in the shadows of the trees, lights off, empty and alone.

But Dean refused to feel bad for leaving. Every time he wanted to turn back and walk inside, his mind threw up the image of Cas’s face lighting up when he heard Dean’s intentions. 

That’s what he wanted. That was going to be his new home.

The place he had lived in all his life held seldom good memories for him. On one of the last trips out to the car, Dean stopped by a section of the kitchen wall that led into the entryway. There, a mark had remained from several years prior, when his dad threw a glass bottle at him after finding the messages on his phone. 

Dean had reached out and ran his fingers over it, forcing himself to remember every minute of that night. Sam locked himself in his room; Dean unable to defend himself; his dad spitting insults at him—but the bottle—the bottle was when Dean didn’t know if he would make it out unscathed. 

The house held no good memories for him. 

Except one. 

The last memory Dean would have of the place consisted of a night and morning in the arms of someone he really did love, and who showed him a different kind of home with a level of safety and desire Dean didn’t acknowledge was missing from his life until then.

The fear still lingered in him, but in a comforting way. A fear of the unknown but not the fear that he’d be alone in figuring it out. They both knew to pull each other away from the monsters.

“So when are we gonna be able to go and see you?” Benny asked, winking at a waitress passing by.

“I don’t know how long it’ll wind up taking us to get settled or how long we’ll stay at that cabin at Table Rock,” Dean explained, tapping the side of his glass in thought. “Once things settle I’ll be back to get my shit.”

“Not for a while though.”

Dean frowned, “Don’t get sappy on me—I’m not going to Mars or anything.”

Benny shook his head and finished his drink. 

Lee stayed silent the entire time. 

The waitress brought them all another round of drinks, on Benny’s tab, even though Lee and Dean hadn’t finished theirs yet. 

Benny picked up his new drink and raised it in a toast. Lee and Dean followed suit. 

“Here’s to one of us finally getting the fuck out of this town,” Benny smiled. “And here’s to finally finding someone you could stand for more than two days.”

Dean laughed as he lightly kicked Benny under the table. They both drank but Lee just put his glass back down on the table.

“What’s going on with you?” Dean asked, growing annoyed with Lee’s attitude. “You look like someone just killed your cat.”

Lee sighed, not looking at either of them.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said, taking a drink as well. “Just a lot happening is all.”

Dean and Benny stared at Lee, waiting for him to elaborate. He glanced at them, then back down to the table.

“It’s just, you’re leaving,” he nodded in Dean’s direction, “I think the suspension on my car shit the bed, and I’m certain I’m a day away from being fired.”

“I can sort you out with at least one of those problems, let me call some places for your car,” Dean said. He didn’t know what to say about Lee’s job. He hated Lee’s job. “And I’m not changing my mind about leaving, I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” Lee mumbled, taking a long drink and almost finishing it. Dean and Benny looked at each other for some kind of guidance on what to do next, but Benny just shrugged his shoulders. 

Dean yawned and went to take out his phone, checking the time, when he suddenly heard a couple shouts from behind him. Benny stood up, watching the commotion from over Dean’s shoulder.

Before Dean could react, he felt a hand on the back of his shirt, hauling him out of his seat.

Michael held Dean face to face with him, practically spitting fire. 

Dean wanted to instantly shove Michael backward into the chair and table behind him but stopped. Michael’s warning from a month ago, inside the country club, echoed back to him: One more fuck up and you’re gonna be in lock up for the rest of your life.

If he touched Michael, he was gone. 

If it had happened at any other time in his life, maybe Dean would have shrugged the warning off and acted anyway—but he wasn’t just thinking of himself anymore. 

Dean’s future hung on his ability to restrain himself.

If he took whatever Michael had come to throw at him, then hopefully whatever was up Michael’s ass would pass, and Dean could get the fuck out of there.

“You’re getting the hell out of this town, tonight,” Michael threatened in a low, vicious voice that only Dean could hear.

It took Dean only half a second to realize that Michael knew. Somehow, to some level, Michael knew about him and Cas. He couldn’t think of anything else to get the man so fired him that he’d lose his composure in the middle of a bar on a Saturday night.

Instead of panicking, Dean laughed in Michael’s face. 

“You’re completely right—I am,” Dean answered, grinning, “And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Dean wondered if he needled hard enough, the vein on Michael’s temple would bust.

“You’re going alone,” Michael threatened, moving closer, causing Dean to take a step back. 

Dean remembered Cas’s face in that kitchen as they sorted through their immediate plans that night, how much unrestrained happiness he exuded, the hope and the exhilaration—

“We’re going together, Michael. Go fuck yourself,” Dean whispered.

Michael shoved Dean against the brick wall next to the booth with more force than Dean had expected, bumping his head. Benny shouted something, but Dean couldn’t hear it with the ringing in his ears. He reached up and felt the back of his head. No bleeding but he’d definitely have a bump. Something fell out of his pocket as Michael forced him backward and Michael kicked it hard enough in the other direction as it crashed into the wall. 

Dean was waiting for the punch when suddenly Benny appeared between them, pushing Michael with such force that he tripped over a chair and fell to the concrete floor. Dean wanted to laugh, he would have laughed, but his head hurt and all he wanted was to get out of there and start driving.

Michael scrambled to his feet, everyone in the bar staring at them. His clenched fists shook as Dean expected him to take a swing.

But Michael said nothing. He stalked away, pushing a table out of his path, causing all the glasses to tumble to the floor. 

The crowd stood in silence as the music over the speakers continued to play. They all took their turn looking at Dean before going back to their conversations, shaking their head. 

Dean sighed, ignored the stares, and looked down to try and find his phone. 

His heart fell as he saw his phone on the floor by someone’s feet. Michael had kicked it so hard that the back had come off, and the screen shattered. 

When Dean popped everything back in, the phone blinked at him through its splintered screen, some of the fractured display glitching out. His heart sank when he saw half glimpses of notifications he hadn’t heard while sitting at the table. A few texts and a phone call, followed by a voicemail.

Dean managed somehow to tap on the notification, able to open the message Cas had left him.

“Hello… go to cabin. don’t come here. Zachar… …hael know. afraid… you…they tail… don’t come… church. Please call me back,” Cas said, his voice hardly audible. 

“Shit,” Dean said, pocketing his ruined phone and grabbing his wallet.

“What’s wrong?” Benny asked, still not sitting. Lee sat in the booth still, frozen.

“Nothing,” Dean answered, paused, and sighed. “Well, it’s something, but I’m feeling the less you know the better. If you haven’t heard from me in like, three hours, call the cops. Ask for Donna since she’s the only who’d care if I was gone—“

“Man, you’re scaring me,” Benny said, frowning, still shaken from what happened. 

“Do you need to call someone? You can use my phone,” Benny said as Dean made to leave. 

Dean shook his head, “No. Can’t do that. Thanks though. 

In Dean’s wildest imagination he figured Michael and Zachariah could somehow track Benny through Cas’s phone, and the less he could put his friends in danger, the better.

Dean left without another word through the front entrance. Two exits would have taken him to the side lot where he parked, but he didn’t want to go out the back door. He had parked farther away, closer to the street, and he hadn’t ruled out the possibility Michael would be waiting for him in the shadows.

Dean quickened his pace as he saw his car waiting for him under a street lamp. Feeling watched, he glanced around but saw no shadow moving or anyone coming at him. 

But someone, somewhere, was watching him.

As quick as he could, Dean threw open the door, almost hit his head as he folded into the front seat, and slammed the door. He locked the doors as he held his breath. He didn’t want to look outside the window, afraid of what he’d find. 

As he turned the key, he looked up through the windshield onto the road. No one. Holding his breath, he looked in his rearview mirror. Also no one. 

Dean threw the car in reverse, and then out of the parking lot and onto the street. 

As he came to the intersection, he decided to head back home to try and dig out his old phone to see if it would work. If he had to go straight to the cabin, then he had some extra time in terms of their timeline for the night. 

Dean sighed and turned left, constantly checking his rearview mirror for headlights, but no one followed him. 

All he wanted was to get to that cabin with its four sturdy walls and hopefully a heavy lock and alarm system and to stay there with one of the only people he felt safe with. Dean had expected some kind of backlash but didn’t expect it before he had left. 

Dean almost slammed the breaks when he wondered when Michael figured it out. Was it before Cas left for the cabin? Was he stuck inside that house?

“Shit, shit shit—” Dean mumbled to himself, pissed he couldn’t use his phone. It wasn’t like he could just drive to Cas’s house, and with how furious Michael was, Dean expected he couldn’t even part within several streets of that house without being caught.

 _One step at a time._ Get the phone—figure it out from there.


	17. Seventeen

The crowd began to thin about a half-hour after Dean left, dwindling down to only a handful of folks. The bar had to close early that night for a “special event” in the morning (a poker game that Benny always dominated).

Benny finished his last drink, wishing it numbed him up just a little more, still trying to shake the adrenaline of earlier off. He still couldn’t believe he shoved Michael into a table and knew there would most likely be repercussions. Benny expected cops to show up at his house tomorrow morning, ready to arrest him for assault. 

But it was worth it.

“Alright, I’m heading home, let’s go,” Benny grumbled, patting Lee on the shoulder. 

“‘Kay,” Lee sighed, getting up from the table. Benny frowned as he left some bills on the table. Lee had been despondent the entire night when usually he’d be positively manic. He loved $5 drink Saturdays. Instead, he sat next to Benny the whole night, not saying much, not moving much.

_I’ll grill him in the car._

Benny left a hefty tip for the waitress and she smiled, giving him a little wave which put some pep in Benny’s step. 

“Where are you going?” Lee asked. He had started moving to the front entrance as Benny headed to the back one. 

“I parked in the lot tonight, remember?”

“Yeah, but…” Lee trailed off and Benny frowned.

“I got no reason to go that way, I parked in the back,” Benny said, confused at Lee’s attitude.

He continued down the long narrow hallway, scrolling through his phone. The noise of what little amount of people were left died down as Benny opened the door to the parking lot. 

There was a moment where he saw the overhead light; he remembered the pavement below his feet already damp with summer dew and a soft breeze on his face—

An arm darted out of the shadow and whacked Benny upside the head with something heavy.

Vision suddenly filled with stars, he staggered off to the side, out of the light.

As he turned around to see his assailant, trying to throw in a swing, Benny felt something hit his face. His nose definitely broke, that much he knew, and he couldn’t stand anymore. He wanted to yell, call for help, but the words died in his throat as he collapsed to the ground. 

Someone above him swore as running footsteps approached. 

Benny wanted to close his eyes and rest for a minute, just a minute, just until the aching went away–

Whoever ran to them stopped next to whoever attacked Benny. Half-conscious, he saw a pair of polished dress shoes next to ratty old converse. 

“That’s not him,” the stranger said, disgust palpable in his voice, “You can kiss that hundred bucks goodbye.”

“He left earlier,” Lee said, voice quiet. Benny struggled to stay awake, trying to take in as much of the conversation he could. 

“And you couldn’t text me?” 

“My phone was dead.”

“Well, why didn’t you get this guy to—“

“I tried, but it didn’t work.”

The two continued to talk as Benny felt the earth move away from him, their voices growing faint, distant.

Dean made quick work of unlocking the house, rushing to the drawer, and pulling out the old phone. It had to have been at least ten years old, but it still had a charger. Worth a shot.

Back in his car, Dean checked his rearview mirror again. 

His hand shook as he tried to plug the phone into the charger, hoping it didn’t take forever to charge, praying it still worked. He needed verbal confirmation Cas was okay. When Dean had listened to the garbled voice mail again, it sounded like Cas was already in action, probably leaving as soon as he hung up—but unease stuck with Dean, reminding him that if Michael was willing to rough him up in public over this, what would he have done in private.

Dean reversed the car down his driveway when his broken phone rang.

He could just barely see the ID. 

Neosho County Memorial—

Dean’s heart plummeted through the floor of his car. 

Maybe Cas didn’t make it out of there after all.

The elevator the old woman pointed Dean to smelled like overcooked hospital food and sterilized linens. Dean rode it by himself which was probably the longest elevator ride he’d taken in his life.

He hated hospitals. 

His father had been stuck in the very same hospital for a month before he died and Dean visited him almost every day, watching him wither away. 

Hospitals were places of death.

The walk to Benny’s room at the end of the hallway seemed endless with Dean forcing himself to walk, tuning out the beeps of code machines and the quiet conversation of nurses. 

They had told him Benny would look gruesome. Those weren’t the exact words, but Dean got the point well enough. In a way, he was almost relieved. The entire 30 minutes it took to drive there, Dean had been convinced Cas would be the one laying in bed with the severe injuries. 

When the receptionist told him it was Benny—Dean’s relief and confusion and guilt all rolled into one monster inside his head. It wasn’t Cas—he had gotten out fine then. But how did Benny—?

Dean arrived at Benny’s partially opened door, heading the beeping of the vitals machine next to the bed. 

Taking a deep breath, Dean pushed through. 

A privacy curtain separated Benny from the outside world and Dean almost didn’t proceed further, not wanting to see Benny’s face. 

But he did. He owed Benny that much. 

Peering behind the curtain, Dean almost didn’t recognize him. 

He had never seen someone look so broken and bruised before. Benny’s face was swollen, black and blue on his left side with his eye shut. Small dots also littered the right side of his face, looking almost like road rash, and it too looked red and angry. 

Benny slept propped up against his pillows, breathing steadily and He was asleep, propped up on his pillow. Dean stayed next to the curtain, taking in the rest of Benny not obscured by a sheet. The rest of him was fine, except for another small scrape on his shoulder, matching the one on his face. No bruising in his wrist or neck, no signs of a struggle—

It wasn’t a mugging. Someone waited for him. 

Dean finally moved forward, trying not to look at Benny’s face, but sat next to him in thought, trying to piece together what could have happened. He had no information to go off of, he had only left them for thirty minutes at that bar. 

And Lee had been there, Benny was his ride home—

Dean remembered the fire in Michael’s eyes when he got in Dean’s face, and the fury when Benny shoved him back into the table, causing him to fall. 

Did Michael do this?

Dean glanced at Benny’s face again and frowned back at the floor, concern beginning to bubble inside. 

_He wouldn’t be that stupid_ , Dean thought. If Michael was that violent, Dean would have gotten his ass beat months ago.

Maybe Dean pushed too far now. He found the line he shouldn’t have crossed. He didn’t pester Michael from the inside-Dean never interfered in the goings-on of the Charleston family. He knew to stay away from that mess, his father being the warning. 

But Dean meddled now and meddled to the point of taking away the one thing that would solidify Michael’s success in town, his security, the only thing he seemingly lived for. 

Michael didn’t attack Dean when he left the bar. 

He waited for Dean’s friends and used them as a warning. 

Anger flared in Dean as he looked down at the old phone, seeing the time. He swore, realizing if Cas had left earlier, he would best Dean by at least an hour and get to the cabin first, not see Dean, and probably panic. 

Dean tapped the text icon and brought up a new window—then froze. 

He didn’t know Cas’s number. Not by heart. He entered it into his phone a month ago and that was it.

“Shit. Shit!” Dean swore to himself again, standing up and pocketing the phone. Anxiety and anger locked together tight, deep inside Dean, and he felt himself begin to shake. Looking around, he found a pad of paper and a pen next to Benny’s bed.

Dean grabbed it and wrote a note:

_I was here earlier, I’ll be back again. Hang in there, let me know what happened, and be honest with the police when they ask. I’m sorry this happened. New number: 620-555-1520._

Dean ripped the paper off and looked around for Benny’s wallet which sat on top of his neatly folded clothing on the other chair across the room. He opened the wallet, tucked it in right behind Benny’s credit card.

Dean didn’t look back at Benny as he left the room, beginning to fume.

Anger morphed into fury as Dean drove, tightening his hands on the wheel and making his knuckles pop. The more he thought, the worse it got.

It began with the moment of clarity that Cas had to deal with this whole life. They don’t like him so they send him to boarding schools constantly throughout his life, Catholic ones at that, and then expect him to take up some kind of life that Cas wasn’t built for, and when Cas tries to stray, he’s punished or used. 

Dean didn’t understand how Cas never took a swing at any of them. 

Over the course of his life, he had never encountered anyone with an unhappy home life. Lee’s parents loved each other, stayed in town; Benny’s parents divorced but got along fine and raised Benny in good fashion along with his niece; Cassie’s family got along, not all the time but never to the likes of which Dean and Cas had seen—

Dean knew he wasn’t the only one with an abusive parent, a toxic home life, but he had never thought about other ways a family could inflict pain on someone, even if it wasn’t physical. Dean had accepted, at some point, that he’d never be enough in his dad’s point of view, and Dean knew when his dad was angry, and Dean knew what words to say, could escape most of the time if he wanted—it sucked, but he wasn’t in unknown waters. 

Someone had blindfolded Cas, shoved him in faraway places his entire life, and then told him to live out the rest of his life where they don’t have to see him, and he will be quiet. 

Unloved. 

Then on the short times, he would venture home, Dean just knew that Cas would have been the one sitting on the outside of the conversation, not knowing what to say or do, not having been home for months and months at a time and missing key moments and events. Dean figured out of everyone, Gabriel would try to engage, he was the one who gave Cas the telescope—but there was probably only so much warmth he would have been allowed to show Cas. 

Cas had grown up shut out, silenced, and unloved. 

And as soon as Cas landed back home, Michael had another plan to keep him shut out, silent, and unloved some more. 

The one bit of happiness Dean had managed to retain over the years had been extended to Cas—Dean wanted them happy, and Dean wanted Cas loved—and now Michael wanted to extinguish it. 

Dean tightened his grip on the wheel, even more, trying to unclench his teeth before he cracked them. 

Michael’s goal was to deny both of them a happy and loving life. 

And no one should have that kind of power. 

As Dean drove onto Route 69 north, he saw the sign for South Hill. 

He hit the brakes in the middle of the road, full stop.

Without so much of a half-second of thought, Dean backed the car up until he got to the driveway that wound through the trees to the South Hill Country parking lot. 

Dean sat in his car, staring at the monstrosity in front of him. 

_Don’t do it don’t even think about it_

He blocked the rational voice out—just wanting to get out of his claustrophobic car and do _something._ Anything. Even if it was just to punch a tree. 

As he stumbled out of the car, a light turned on inside the club, over in a side window. Dean watched a shadow move across the window before another light went on confused, Dean stood there as the giant windows light up right in front of his face, blinding him for a moment. He scrambled to duck behind his car, looking over. 

Through the windows, he saw Michael walk in, looking around the tables and flipping up the table cloths.

 _He’s looking for me_ , Dean thought, adrenaline roaring back into him. Benny _was_ a warning. Michael expected Dean to go after him. 

Michael, seemingly satisfied, sat down at one of the tables near the window, putting his face in his hands. 

His body moved before his brain could even think about stopping him. 

Dean followed the path over to the side door where Michael came through. In a daze, he walked through the fully lit kitchen, through a fully lit hallway passing the bathrooms, and out into the great room. 

Michael, head still in his hands, didn’t move as Dean stood at the far end of the room, watching him. 

_You’re gonna lose it all_ , the voice reminded Dean but his racing heart drowned it out. Images of a bruised Benny, despondent Cas, and his dad laying in a hospital bed, wasting away to nothing—

“Why did you do it?”

Michael jumped, lifting his head. He looked pale in the harsh overhead light of the room. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” He stood fast, knocking his chair over. 

“Why did you do that to Benny?” Dean asked, trying to keep his voice steady. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Michael answered, “Get the hell off my property or—“

“Or? Or what? You’re gonna call the police?” Dean asked, moving closer, ready to strike.

Michael said nothing but began backing away, keeping his eyes on Dean as he drew his phone out of his pocket. Before he could push any buttons, Dean closed the distance between them and knocked the phone out of his hand, kicking it away from him. One score settled.

Staggering away from Dean, Michael’s face of anger morphed into pure fear, realizing there was no one else around to save him or to restrain Dean. 

Dean took a swing, and Michael dodged it, also throwing out a punch—missed. 

The second time, Dean’s fist collided with Michael’s nose with a sickening crunch. Michael jerked back, falling over another chair while he held his tie up to his nose to absorb some of the bleeding. Dean followed him to the ground and held him there by his shoulder, throwing another punch, making contact with Michael’s jaw. That one hurt Dean, but he didn’t care—it was a satisfying kind of pain. 

“Siri!” Michael called out, nose clogged and broken. Somewhere behind them, there was a small _ding ding!_ noise, “Call 911!”

“Okay, I am dialing 911,” the phone responded in its automated voice. 

It was when he heard the ringing on the speakerphone that Dean came back to himself.

He immediately scrambled off of Michael, trying to catch his breath and calm his heart. _Shit, shit shit—_

Michael didn’t look all that messed up, nothing in comparison to Benny, but he was already forming a bruise on his jaw and his nose looked swollen and blooden.

But Dean did it. 

He did that. 

He really stepped over the line if he hadn’t before. Not just crossed it but kicked it and punched it as well.

As the dispatcher picked up, Dean ran. 

He ran, and ran—ran through the kitchen, ran down the path outside, ran out into the parking lot. Jumping into his car, he saw Michael looking out the window at him, talking on the phone. 

Dean threw the car into gear and sped out of the lot, heading out of town as fast as he could as he heard sirens in the distance.


	18. Eighteen

Dean’s phone had gone from ringing several times to a voicemail greeting, to just ringing twice and ending the call completely. 

Cas tried calling again, trying to swallow his nerves. Something went wrong.

He sent several text messages earlier as well, all gone unread. 

It was like Dean had fallen off the face of the earth. 

Joshua had tried keeping Cas calm but given the looks on Michael and Zachariah’s faces earlier, Cas couldn’t help the knot tightening in the pit of his stomach.

When Cas had tried the seventh time, sitting on the church steps, a distressing thought wormed its way inside Cas’s mind: 

Dean didn’t want to go after all. 

_He’s going to come_

But Cas recalled the fear on Dean’s face as they talked in the pool, the same kind of fear, nervousness, and self-doubt that showed itself when they talked in the kitchen.

_He wouldn’t leave me without telling me._

You don’t know that. 

_We’re open with each other._

But you don’t know that for sure. 

Cas sat on the bench outside of the church, watching the road in the distance for headlights. There were two times in the last three hours that he saw them, but all belonged to different cars.

As time went on, and the clock moved steadily more to midnight, an overwhelming sense of failure washed over him. He had really thought things were going to be okay.

Even if Dean had decided to come but somehow was stopped, Cas couldn’t wander around town looking for him without knowing if Dean was, in fact, there or not. Cas couldn’t take his car earlier when he left, and if he walked back into town on foot, searching all over, odds were he wouldn’t be able to ever leave again. Cas couldn’t call the police to do a welfare check either. 

Michael greased the palms of every detective, sergeant, and the chief. They wouldn’t help Cas even if he begged.

As 12:30 a.m. hit, mind racing, Cas decided he would call one of Dean’s friends. He didn’t like talking to them that much, feeling out of place around them, but desperate times—

Cas did have both Benny’s and Lee’s numbers in case of emergency, and Cas took note of the time—but it very well could be an emergency if Dean was severely incapacitated. He opted to try Benny first, feeling as if he would be more open with Cas.

Hitting the number, Cas held the phone to his ear and took a deep breath, holding it as he saw headlights coming down the road again. The car sounded like Dean’s car—

“Hey, it’s Benny,” the phone said and Cas took his eyes off the road, opening his mouth to talk. “You got my voicemail, I’ll get back to you soon.”

There was a beep over the receiving end as the car drove by, taking with it another part of Cas’s dwindling hope.

If it was Dean, it would have stopped. 

“Hello Benny, this is Cas. Just wondering if you have heard from Dean recently? I’ve been trying to contact him tonight with no luck. You can call me back at this number at any time. Thank you,” he said in a rush, ending awkward.

Sighing, the crickets in the field across from him as his only company, he tapped on Lee’s number. 

The phone rang for a while and Cas was fearful that he’d have to leave another voicemail. But someone picked up just in time 

“Hello?” Lee sounded confused, not sleepy.

Cas cleared his throat and straightened up a little. 

“Hello Lee, it’s Cas.”

“Hey, what’s going on, man?”

Cas frowned, staring at the step under his foot. Lee sounded too upbeat. It was like Lee was trying too hard to be light and unbothered, especially considering it was almost one in the morning and Cas had never called him before. 

“I’m wondering—have you heard from Dean?” Cas asked, watching as some kind of bug crawled into a crack in the wood. “I’ve been trying to get in contact, but—“

“He… he hasn’t called—told you?”

“Told me what? No?” 

Cas heard a loud sigh over the phone and he sat up straight, already feeling the dread surface again.

“Figured this would happen. He’s not always great at confrontation.”

Ice filled Cas’s veins as he stared off into the darkness.

“Confrontation?”

A brief pause. 

“Yeah… we all went out tonight and Dean told us that he was getting second thoughts about the plans, but was too afraid to tell you,” Lee said, sounding too casual, sounding too matter-of-fact. Cas frowned. “He said he’d try calling you tonight, but I guess he couldn’t do it. He can be a little bit of a coward sometimes. Maybe he was going to in the morning.”

“That—that doesn’t make sense,” Cas said slowly. Hearing it as one of those pesky _what if_ thoughts earlier, Cas bought it. Hearing it out loud, then hearing one of Dean’s friends call him a coward—that broke the suspension of disbelief. 

“Hey man I’m just telling you what happened tonight. I hope he calls you in the morning,” Lee said, sounding like he didn’t hope it would happen at all. “I’m heading back to bed.”

Before Cas could say goodnight or goodbye, Lee hung up.

In a daze, Cas stood, phone still in hand, and went back into the church. He walked down the aisle, his mind working a mile a minute, trying to process what Lee had said. 

Turning the words over in his head, Cas waited, braced for the sadness to creep in, the bitter taste of abject failure—

But instead, confusion greeted him. 

He wandered back into Joshua’s office and found him sitting at his desk, writing a letter. Joshua smiled up at him, expecting some good news, but it immediately dropped. 

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he asked, standing up. 

Cas couldn’t look at him. His eyes couldn’t focus on anything. 

“I just had a strange conversation,” Cas said, frowning.

“Did you finally get a hold of Dean?” 

Cas took a deep breath and blinked, shaking his head. 

“No, I spoke with a friend of his,” Cas started. He had to sit down. Joshua sat back down too. “He said Dean decided he didn’t want to come with me anymore, and that he was supposed to have called me tonight but clearly didn’t feel like it. He said that Dean would probably call me tomorrow. And then he called him a coward.”

“Oh Cas, is that—“

“I don’t know what it is,” Cas said.

“Well, I was about to ask if that kind of behavior is something Dean would do?” Joshua asked, voicing Cas’s question out loud.

Cas thought back to their first meeting in that kitchen Dean wanting to stay and talk to a stranger; Dean still inviting Cas to his party despite having animosity toward his family; the look on Dean’s face when he told Cas that deep secret part of himself that he hadn’t told anyone other than that boy when he was younger; Dean’s eagerness and willingness to share another intimate night together, but with less words and more sheets and pillows; Their night in the field, that wild look on Dean’s face; last night when Dean trusted him completely, that bright spark in his eyes–

“Does it sound like something he would do?” Joshua asked again, soft and quiet. 

No.

“No,” Cas said, sounding a little hoarse. He cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “No, that doesn’t sound like something he would do.”

Joshua offered a small smile and raised his eyebrows.

“So what are you going to do about it?”

The walk home went quicker than the walk to the church after Cas left his bags behind on Joshua’s insistence. 

Cas left instructions for Joshua to call Cas if Dean showed up. But, if Cas’s suspicions were correct, then Dean wouldn’t be showing up there any time soon. His anger pushed Cas to head back into town, no longer looking for Dean. 

At the end of the day, all roads, even the one that Cas walked on at that moment, lead to Michael. 

Cas didn’t think Dean was scared by Michael to the point where he’d leave town and not tell Cas—but something happened. 

Cas’s fear over Michael holding him back in Worthington had no teeth. It burned away as he left Joshua’s office, knowing Michael had something for Dean to miss all those phone calls and texts. 

When Cas rounded the corner onto their street, heading down to the driveway, he froze in place.

Three police cars parked themselves by the garage. The siren lights weren’t on, but the front door was wide open and almost every light in the house was on. 

Cas forced himself forward. 

Michael was sitting in his study with a frozen bag of peas against the left side of his face. His nose had been bleeding, it looked broken, and there was a dark bruise and scratch on his right jaw. 

He sat on his favorite chair while two officers sat opposite him, writing things down on a clipboard as he spoke. 

Two steps inside the house and Michael looked up and saw him. 

Cas expected shouting, but Michael just glared at him. 

“What happened?” Cas asked staying in the hall.

“Your friend jumped me at the club.”

“My—which friend?” Cas asked. He knew Michael knew, he just had to hear him say it—

“Dean. Dean jumped me at South Hill and ran like the coward he and his entire family are,” Michael spat. The officers said nothing, continuing to fill out their paperwork while their radios beeped.

 _What did you do to deserve it?_ was what Cas wanted to say. 

“What were you doing at the club so late?” Cas asked instead.

Michael shifted his glare to the floor, adjusting the bag on his face.

“I was afraid he'd go there and do some damage after he heard his friend got roughed up.”

“What are you talking about,” Cas asked, fearing he already knew the answer.

“That big guy who breathes through his mouth,” Michael said. “Benny I think his name is. Got rushed by a bum or something outside a bar and—“

Michael shut his mouth and shot a side glance at the officers who still weren’t looking at him, but Cas caught it. 

“But why would Dean think you had something to do with that?” Cas asked, narrowing his eyes, feeling inches away from uncovering the answers he had been looking for all night. 

Michael’s stone-like expression faltered slightly and he sniffed, annoyed, turning his head back to the male cop, who handed Michael the clipboard and a piece of paper to sign. 

“We’ll talk about it later. Go upstairs.” 

Cas didn’t move. 

“Why would Dean think you had anything to do with it?” Cas asked again, unyielding. 

“I said we’ll talk about it later,” Michael answered, looking back at Cas, speaking through clenched teeth. “Go upstairs.”

If it were any other point in his life, he’d obey.

Instead, Cas turned and grabbed the spare car keys hanging off the hook next to the door. He didn’t bother looking behind him as he flung the door open and slammed it hard enough behind him that the glass rattled. 

He climbed into the car, heart and mind racing as he turned the engine over. It was a little past 3 a.m. according to the dash and they should have been at the cabin hours ago. 

Cas decided to head there. If Dean sensed trouble, maybe he went there. 

_Gone there, forgot his charger, and his phone died_ , Cas repeated to himself as he drove back to the church to pick up his things.

It was a little after midnight according to Dean’s working phone, and he had spent the last hour or so hiding in the back seat of his car, parked alongside the road, closer to the corn.

The sirens had long since gone and Dean was sure he’d be in the clear—but cops could be stealthy if they were really after you.

Exhaustion from the mental strain of the day began to set in, and all Dean wanted to do was fall asleep. 

But he still had a three-hour drive ahead of him. 

He had to go to the cabin. If Cas was there, then Dean could explain everything that had happened. 

If Cas wasn’t there, if Michael somehow got a hold of him, Dean hoped the place had a phone, number, and address for the church to get some help. Cas have given them both to Dean earlier but on his now shattered and useless phone. 

Dean couldn’t go back until he was certain Cas wasn’t at the cabin. It’d be too risky, and if Dean wandered back into town right then, he’d be arrested and thrown behind bars, fulfilling Michael’s threat from several weeks ago.

Sighing, Dean lifted himself slowly up and out of his back seat, checking the rearview window and his front. The car was a great car, but given its age and style, was hardly inconspicuous. Even behind a barn he still knew it was somewhat visible. He only hoped that the blackness blended in with the night.

Satisfied no one had snuck up on him, Dean climbed over the front seat and settled behind the wheel with a deep sigh.

It had been such a long day, a long week, _weeks_ —but it’d be worth it once they got to Table Rock. They’d be safe there.

Hopefully. 

Dean didn’t drive fast, trying to avoid any speed traps alongside the road.

He had to blast the radio to keep himself awake as he drove further out of town. He only glanced at two churches before giving up. The name wouldn’t magically resurface in his brain. 

Dean yawned behind his hand and cranked the radio louder, passing by a third church as he ticked his speed up, but only just.

A little after 3 a.m. and Dean made it to the lake community. 

The place felt overgrown, even at night. Dean couldn’t see the moonlight through the thick trees that canopied the main road. There were cabins here and there, all dark, all quiet. He wondered if his car would make enough noise to wake someone up, peer out their window, and see a black car driving slow with its high beams on. That’d definitely get the cops called on him.

The main road Dean drove on veered split into two dirt roads, one that took him to a secondary road and one that would take him to the lakefront properties. Dean continued straight, hugging the lake and wincing every time he heard a rock throw itself against his car. 

There were small clusters of cabins, smaller and more rustic looking, on the road which made a back loop into the woods on a slight incline. Dean’s destination rested just as the road began its curve upward, the last cabin to have a lake view.

The cabin stood stoic in the dark, huddled near another one that also looked like it hadn’t been touched in years. Across the street, near the back of the cabin, was another one, slightly large that had a small porch light on, illuminating the numerous potted plants covering the deck and steps.

As Dean parked, he looked to the left for an unobstructed view of the water. The moon glistened and danced on the surface of the lake every time the wind blew. 

_Fuck Maine, let’s just say here._

The view mesmerized Dean for a minute before he realized Cas wasn’t there.

All the windows were closed and dark, no car—everything was quiet except for nighttime critters. No one had been to the place in a long while.

Dean frowned as he leaned over, opening his glove compartment.

He kept a lock pick kit in there just in case he had come home and his father locked the door on him, passing out on the couch.

Dean swallowed hard as he got out of the car. He didn’t slam the door closed, not wanting to wake the neighbors, and wandered up shallow stone steps to the side porch door, getting the tools ready.

Trying to keep himself steady, Dean tried his best to focus on the task at hand and the plan he had laid out in his head earlier. He knew there was a possibility Cas wouldn’t have been there, so now he had to go inside and hope there was contact information for the priest.

_Can something go right today? Christ._

He knelt down and opened the kit, using his phone as a flashlight and holding it in his mouth as he went to work. 

As soon as his hands touched the lock, he heard a twig snap behind him and a low, threatening “Freeze.”

Dean ceased all movement and put his hands up to show he dropped his things. He knew this would happen. He knew it would happen, he knew it he knew it—

“Get up,” the voice ordered. 

Obeying, Dean turned on his knee and stood as slowly as he could, fearful of what he’d find behind him. 

A man stood behind Dean with a revolver pointed at him, silhouetted by the neighbor’s porch light. Dean couldn’t see the man’s face clearly, but he was still close enough to where Dean wouldn’t stand a chance trying to dodge a bullet.

Dean cleared his throat, letting out a shaky breath.

“I’m allowed to be here, sir. Honestly. I beat my partner here,” Dean said, realizing he had no way to prove it.

The man lowered the gun to Dean’s feet instead of pointing it at his chest, no doubt preparing himself should he have to act fast. 

And then took one step forward. 

“I know who you are, Dean,” the man said, sounding amused, almost joking. Dean frowned, still trying to breathe steadily. 

Dean knew that voice—but couldn’t place the name—

The man took another small step forward and a second light from the porch across the way turned on, beaming even more light into Dean’s eyes and obscuring the man’s face. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know who you are,” Dean responded, still trying to match a face to the voice. 

“Good.”

The man whipped his arm back up and pointed the gun at Dean. He tried acting fast but the gunman had half a second advantage. As Dean began to turn away, the gun fired. 

Dean didn’t feel anything, didn’t hear anything as he fell to the ground. Light flooded his face as the man moved and mumbled, “Shit”. Dean’s hand moved, but he didn’t control it. The man crouched down and slipped the gun into Dean’s hand, curling his fingers the warmth of the grip, moving his thumb to touch some other part before letting it go again. 

It hurt to breathe, he couldn’t think—it felt like he was being suffocated, or like when Sam almost accidentally drowned him in a pool. He needed oxygen but every breath hurt. He couldn’t cough, he couldn’t move—the light in his face dimmed before strengthening again.

_I’m dying._

Dean didn’t know how long he laid there but soon, the light faded again as someone ran toward him, shouting something. 

In the distance, echoing over the lake, Dean heard sirens as the world went completely dark. 


	19. Nineteen

At almost 4 a.m., Cas got a call from Joshua. 

He was almost at the cabin, not feeling even a modicum amount of tired, running on pure determination to find Dean. 

When his phone rang and he looked down, seeing the caller ID, his heart skipped a beat thinking that at some point in the three-hour trip, Dean had finally arrived at the church as Cas instructed.

It’d be another long drive back, but Cas could care less about sleep at that point.

“Hello?” He said as the Bluetooth kicked in. 

“Cas, you should pull over right now,” Joshua said, tone flat and serious, crashing any optimism Cas had in the moment. 

He slammed on the brakes, stopping in the middle of the road. Joshua had never sounded like that before.

“What’s wrong, what’s going on?”

Joshua sighed and cleared his throat.

“I just got a call from the Missouri State Police department,” Joshua said, pausing again. Cas tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “They were called to the cabin about forty-five minutes ago. I guess—a heard what sounded like gunshots—” Ice cold dread sank into Cas, all the way to the bone “—went outside, and saw Dean laying outside the house with a gunshot wound his upper chest—not exactly sure where.”

Cas blinked several times and breathed heavily through his nose as he pulled the car over to the side of the road, killing the engine.

“Cas?” Joshua asked through the speakerphone. 

Cas didn’t answer. He grabbed his seatbelt and threw it off of him, kicking open his door and headed onto the gravel shoulder.

He needed air. 

“Cas are—there? Surgery—lungs,” Joshua asked. Cas could barely hear him over the nighttime chatter from nearby creatures and insects.

He focused on a small pebble in the road to try and ground himself pushing everything he could, absolutely everything, out of his mind. Satisfied he could handle it, Cas turned and picked up the phone from inside, carrying it with him so he could stand against the car, feeling the slight breeze on his face.

“Yes, I’m here.”

“Did you hear me?”

“No.”

Joshua sighed over the phone, sounding more anxious, “He’s not dead, but he’s in surgery right now. It just missed his lungs and it was to the left of his heart and closer to his collarbone. They think if he had aimed a little—“

“Wait, what?” 

Cas cut Joshua off at those words, frowning. 

“What’s what, Cas?”

“You said if he aimed… did they think he did this to himself?”

“From what little they told me over the phone, patient confidentiality, but they said it appeared to have been self-inflicted. He was holding a gun, Mrs. Gonzalez said she didn’t hear or see anyone else there.”

Just like when Michael said Dean had beat him up, just like when Lee lied to Cas saying Dean had changed his mind—Cas was missing a piece of the puzzle.

“He didn’t shoot himself,” Cas mumbled to himself.

“I’m sorry?”

Cas cleared his throat.

“He didn’t, and wouldn’t, shoot himself,” he repeated, louder this time.

“Cas, I just—“

“No, I appreciate it. Thank you for letting me know. What hospital is he in?” 

“Mercy Hospital Cassville. They said he’s still in surgery and he’ll be out in about an hour,” Joshua explained.

Cas thanked him quickly and hung up before Joshua could say anything else. 

It took Cas 45 minutes to get to Mercy Hospital Cassville, having to already drive by it on the way to Table Rock. It took another two hours, as the sun just started to bruise the sky, anxiously pacing the waiting room for him to actually see Dean.

But the doctor and nurse finally came to get Cas and led him to Dean’s room at the end of the hall. 

At first, Cas was happy to see Dean had his own room—but as his eyes fell onto the handcuffs securing an unconscious Dean to the bed, his heart sank. 

Cas turned around, frowning.

“Why is he handcuffed?” he asked the doctor. 

“That’s a question for the police, I’m just doing as I’m told. They’ll be back shortly,” the doctor said, looking down at a clipboard. “Dean’s going to be in pain for a while, even after discharge. His collarbone was shattered and we had to…”

The doctor’s voice faded away as Cas turned his focus back on Dean. It hurt to see Dean hurting and jarring to see him unconscious with that many bandages and a sophisticated ling.

This wasn’t how their night was supposed to go and as Cas glanced out the window, seeing the sun begin to peek over the horizon, he mourned the fact that right now, he should be pressed up against Dean in bed, either trying to coax him out to make breakfast or convince him to stay so they could enjoy each other a little while longer.

“Does that sound alright?” 

Cas nodded, not knowing what the doctor actually just said.

“Yes it does, thank you.”

The doctor gave Cas a once over before walking over to deposit the clipboard in a bin at the end of Dean’s bed. Neither he nor the nurse said anything as they exited the room, closing the door behind them.

Cas was left alone with Dean and the beeping machine. Sighing, Cas sat on the hospital provided chair next to the bed and took Dean’s hand in his own, horrified at how lifeless it felt. Dean’s wound wasn’t life-threatening—it was fixed and he would be fine. 

But what had happened?

A half-hour later and the door opened again and Cas, who had started to doze, jumped up from his chair. The doctor returned, this time accompanied by a State Police Sergeant.

“Thank you, doctor, I’ll take it from here,” The trooper said, nodding her head toward the door. The doctor gave a little nod and left the room. 

Cas and the Sergeant stared at each other for a moment before she sighed, took off her hat, and placed it on the empty bed next to her. 

“This was one hell of a night for you Cas,” she said, still not smiling but Cas detected a hint of sympathy. 

Cas frowned. 

“How do you know that, and how do you know who I am?” 

The sheriff moved closer as she drew a scratchpad from her pocket. Cas took note of her name patch, Sergeant Jody Mills, Missouri State Police.

“When our officers got to the scene, they found an unregistered gun,” Sheriff Mills began explaining, running through her notes with a heavy sigh. “They ran Dean’s license and saw there was a BOLO for him out of Worthington. We called the department, was told he was wanted for assault on a complaint by Michael Charleston. We called Michael as well and he gave us an account of the night, saying you ran out of the family home to go after Dean.”

Sergeant Mills drew a pen out of her pocket. 

“But you weren’t with Dean when he was found. Can you tell us where you were around three this morning?

Cas stared at her, pen poised to begin taking more notes. 

He didn’t try to figure out what to say to her—but her recount of the vague timeline discounted a theory he had on what happened. 

Just how he had concluded earlier while walking back from the church, all roads lead to Michael. Cas didn’t allow himself to think the accusation in full, choosing to keep it in the back of his head—but a part of him had started to wonder if Michael was the one who shot Dean. 

But logic threw it back at Cas right then. Michael couldn’t have beaten Cas to the lake. He had left Michael still talking with the police and headed straight to the cabin with no stops. Unless Michael could fly, then there was no way it could have been Michael. 

“I didn’t know for sure where Dean was going, but we had plans to meet up tonight and head to the cabin,” Cas began explaining, watching Sheriff Mills scribble down his words. “I couldn’t get a hold of him—we had to change some things after Michael...but he never answered me.” 

“Were these phone calls before or after Michael was assaulted by Dean?” 

Cas swallowed and glanced over to Dean, wishing he was awake to give his account of what happened to him. There were so many gaps in the story he couldn’t fill.

“I had tried getting a hold of him before I left for our original meeting point, a church, around eight last night. He never came, so I walked back home after midnight, and that’s when I saw Michael,” Cas said, trying not to spill every single detail, not more than she needed to know. He didn’t know what was going to get him or Dean in trouble or save them.

Sheriff Mills stopped writing and looked back up at Cas with another sigh.

“Michael had told us Dean was facing a substantial amount of jail time due to other offenses. We had dusted for prints but only his were on it, and Michael said they had run-ins before,” Sheriff Mills started, Cas hearing her choosing her words carefully. 

He stayed quiet. 

Realizing she wasn’t going to get confirmation, she continued, “We are investigating this as a suicide attempt.”

Cas couldn’t take it anymore.

“He wouldn’t kill himself. He had nothing to kill himself over,” Cas snapped. 

Sheriff Mills’ frown deepened, “Michael had told us of Dean’s family and his past, along with him facing charges, along with I would imagine a sudden and abrupt change to his way of life—that it is, in fact, possible.”

 _I guess I’m always just nervous I’m gonna wind up like that,_ Dean’s voice echoed in Cas’s head. 

“None of it makes sense. He wouldn’t try to kill himself,” Cas stated again, anger rising. 

Sheriff Mills’ face didn’t help to keep him calm, showing him that same kind of pity expression he had grown to hate over the last week. 

“Michael had indicated that you two only knew each other for a little over a month,” Sheriff Mills eventually said, “There’s bound to be things about each other you still don’t know.”

Exhaustion had started to settle over Cas when he looked over at Dean, still asleep, still handcuffed. He looked small, scared even in sleep—a direct opposite to the previous morning as they woke up together in the soft sunlight.

“I guess I’ll just have to do your job for you then,” Cas said, turning back to Sergeant Mills. He grabbed his keys off the bedside table and didn’t look back on her or Dean as he left the room.

Motivation and a quick stop at a coffee shop got Cas to the cabin, but by the time he pulled up and saw Dean’s car alongside the road, his heart sank. It was one thing to say he’d figure it out, another entirely when he had to _actually_ figure it out. 

On the drive over, Cas knew the answer stared him in the face—but he couldn’t connect the pieces. He had been up for nearly 24 hours and all the wires remained disconnected. The only thing his brain focused on was the image of Dean in hospital scrubs handcuffed to his bed.

Cas sighed and turned his car off, taking his coffee with him as he opened the door, stepping out into the heat and humidity of the early morning.

Glancing at Dean’s car, Cas walked up the shallow stone steps to the side door, trying to figure out where he should start. White noise filled his head as he stared at the ground for a second, wondering if he should in fact head inside and sleep for just an hour. Surely they wouldn’t arrest Dean in an hour—

But Cas then focused on what it was he was staring at. With a sharp inhale, he jumped back so fast he slipped on a stair, grabbing the railing next to him, spilling his coffee into the grass. 

Blood. A big bloodstain. Someone had tried cleaning it up, he could see bristle marks and it had faded to pink, but it was still blood. 

Heart pounding in his ears, Cas closed his eyes to gather himself. 

“Are you alright, dear?” Cas heard an elderly woman’s voice from behind. He whipped around, startling her, startling himself, before taking a shaky breath.

“Yes, I’m—,” Cas almost said fine, but he shouldn’t lie. He wished he was fine, but if wishing made it so—

He glanced past her to the house across the road. “Is that your house?” 

She looked back over her shoulder and nodded, “Yes, it is. I’m assuming you heard about the incident last night. Have they caught the man?”

Cas’s racing heart and mind stopped cold. 

“The man?”

“Yes, there was a man here last night, he was the one who shot the other young man. My cat woke me up to go—“

“Did you—sorry,” Cas said, cutting her off, “I thought you told police you didn’t see anyone. Were you the one they spoke to?”

The woman nodded, contrite.

“I was nervous. We don’t get murders up here… I saw the man run off and was afraid he’d return if he thought I spilled the beans.”

Cas wanted to shake her and tell her that she wasted valuable time—but it would do nothing to bring the time back.

“Did you see what he looked like?” Cas asked, daring to hope. 

The woman nodded. “My front light lit up at least a good portion of his face. He was taller, balding, a little heavier set… he was smiling if that makes any sense.”

The missing puzzle piece began to fill in.

“Do you know if anyone around here has a-a camera? Those cameras mounted by the door or any other kind of surveillance cameras?” 

She squinted at the other houses, trying to remember, when her eyes landed on her immediate neighbor, one who lived right behind Joshua’s cabin, car resting in the driveway.

“Mr. Johnson has one I believe. He just arrived, I haven’t filled him in on any of this and I don’t think the police—”

A small match of hope sparked inside Cas as he practically leaped off the stairs and ran over to the neighboring house, forgetting all about the woman. 

Mr. Johnson confirmed that yes he did have a RING Camera and yes, he backed everything up on his phone. 

Cas immediately called the local State Troopers barracks, asking for Sergeant Mills. He needed her to watch the video—he didn’t want to mess anything up, especially if it showed what he thought it showed.

Sheriff Mills promptly came down, parked in Joshua’s driveway, and walked up around the corner, looking over at the steps with a frown on her face before settling her eyes on Cas. 

“I’m guessing you found something?” she asked, nodding her head toward the woman and the Michigan man. 

Cas nodded, pushing down the small jolt of annoyance at her tone. _Of course I found something_ , he wanted to say, handing over the phone, _because none of you would do your jobs._

“Alright let’s see it then,” she said, taking the phone from Cas. They both huddled around the screen to watch.

A car, an ugly beige Bently that Cas had seen many times in the last month, had pulled into Mr. Johnson’s driveway, turning its headlights off. The faint light from the woman’s house next door provided little illumination, but they could still make out the slight contours of the man’s face as he walked by, stuffing something into his suit jacket. 

Cas watched the man slink behind a tree next to Joshua’s house and wait there for several minutes as they sped up the playback. He straightened as headlights wobbled their way down the dirt road, parking in front of Joshua’s cabin. 

It was a moment before Dean walked up the steps, looking around and into a window with something in his hand.

 _He’s looking for me_. Cas’s heart sank. He didn’t know, he couldn’t have known, and there was no telling where the wires got crossed but seeing Dean looking for him, knowing what’s about to happen next—

Without any hesitation, the man behind the tree stepped out and managed to walk up behind Dean without being seen. He stood behind Dean with a raised arm and Cas could just make out the outline of what had to be the gun in his hand.

Dean suddenly put his hands up, paused, then slowly turned. He stood, with his hands still up in the air. Cas almost looked away, thinking about the bloodstain on the steps nearby, but forced himself to keep his eyes on the black and white screen.

In the blink of an eye, the gunman, who had lowered his arm slightly, brought it back up followed by a flash of light. Dean’s hand went up to his chest and he crumbled to the ground. 

The man turned into the light from the woman’s house in panic, finally showing his entire face. 

Zachariah mouthed something, then moved back over to Dean on the ground. They couldn’t see exactly what happened, but when Zachariah moved away, he no longer had the gun. 

As Zachariah rushed back to his car and drove off, the woman ran down her steps and over to an unmoving Dean.

Cas looked up at Sergeant Mills whose face had gone stony. 

“Well, you were right, I was wrong,” she admitted, “Or more like those who investigated got it wrong and that’s a problem that has to be fixed. Do you know this man?” 

Sheriff Mills dragged her finger across the screen to pause on Zachariah’s worried face.

“Yes, that was supposed to be my future father-in-law—or I guess... uncle-in-law,” Cas mumbled, sighing deeply. 

“Supposed to be? You mean this is Dean’s unc—”

“No,” Cas cut Sergeant Mills off, “That was the uncle of the girl my brother Michael and _her_ uncle, that man, was trying to arrange a marriage to. Me and her.”

Frowning in confusion, she looked back at the phone, and Cas, for the first time in twelve hours, felt like he could breathe. 


	20. 20

At the end of a very long 36 hours, Cas could finally rest.

The mattress in the cabin had been wrapped in an airtight plastic bag to keep the dust out over the years. It looked brand new to Cas and he wondered if someone had bought it thinking they could stay there longer than they wound up doing. 

Cas thanked that person because now he and Dean would most likely have to stay there longer than they had initially intended.

It turned out Dean wasn’t too seriously injured, just had a broken collarbone and a gunshot wound but nothing that had actually put his life in danger. But it’d still take a while for him to heal. 

Sergeant Mills, when looking back over the video, had pointed out that Dean tried moving in the split second he could before Zachariah fired. 

Dean’s attempt at a dodge combined with Zachariahs’ sloppy aim, wound up saving his life. Doctors had said if Dean _hadn’t_ moved, the bullet may have hit his heart, at the very least punctured a lung. It was close, but not deadly. 

On the way back to the cabin from the hospital, after Dean fell back asleep and visiting hours were over, Cas prayed again, thanking God for helping to protect Dean, helping him literally dodge a bullet. 

Cas sighed as he unpacked the sheets Dean had in one of his suitcases, wanting to sleep for at least twelve hours. He lamented the fact that he had to stay in the cabin on his own when they both should have been there, both should have made themselves comfortable already. 

But it was okay, Cas thought as he got ready for bed, because the barriers had been lifted. They barely made it but they slipped the grasp of everything that had been holding them back, and now all they had to do was go forward. 

Cas kept wondering if Michael would wind up being charged. Most likely not, since he had never laid a hand on Dean and told police he didn’t know Zachariah was going to assault Dean’s friends or shooting Dean himself—but if they linked him to knowing why Zachariah came to a spit of a town in Kansas in the first place, there’d be no buying his innocence.

There were things Cas had to leave behind when he had snuck out of his room window to meet Dean at that church, having to walk instead of drive, and after he got the all-clear from Sergeant Mills, he texted Michael asking if he could come to pick them up. 

Michael simply texted back, _Yes_. 

Cas didn’t want to go—but he wanted to get that telescope back above all else. 

The only thing that kept the dread at bay was the fact that Michael had little to no power anymore. 

In reality, Cas mused as he drove to Worthington, Michael never had power in the first place, only people who were willing to believe he did. 

But with the chains cut, Cas finally saw Michael for what he was. 

A scared, lonely, reactionary man who’s self-esteem plunged lower than Cas’s had ever gone. 

Cas didn’t want to go back to town—but Dean’s eyes had lit up, regaining that bright spark in them when Cas floated the idea of going back to get the telescope. It was the first pure measure of happiness Cas had seen in several days from Dean, and he couldn’t say no to that. 

Michael left Cas alone as he packed up some extra stuff he couldn’t the other night. But as Cas walked into the library, he saw Michael sitting in an armchair by the window, pensive and lost. 

Glancing at Cas, Michael cleared his throat and finished his drink. 

“Have you gotten what you needed?” he asked, setting the glass down on the table.

Cas stopped and looked over, hands full of some older novels.

“I should be finished after this,” Cas answered, placing the books in a duffel bag. 

Michael sighed and Cas heard him get up from the chair, walking over. Tensing, he focused on placing the books neatly inside the bag instead of looking over. 

“I think you should have the house.”

Cas almost dropped the book in his hand, now looking back over at Michael stared at him, dejected and defeated.

Moving slower, giving himself time to think, Cas reached up and grabbed another book.

“I think we’ll be alright,” Cas said, keeping his tone light. His first reaction was _yes_ —just out of instinct—until the myriad of reasons why it was a _no_ flooded back into his head. “We’re looking elsewhere.”

Michael sighed and stuck his hands in his pocket, looking around. 

“Well—I think I’ll sell it then,” he mused, still sad, still looking afraid. 

Cas frowned, this time turning around fully. 

“Where are you going to go then?”

Shrugging, Michael looked down at the floor, not wanting to look Cas in the eye.

“Well, once I get the all-clear and the police won’t serve a warrant, I was thinking... Greece.”

“Why do you think the police _would_ serve you a warrant,” Cas asked, turning back to zip up the bag. “You told them you didn’t know about Zachariah’s gun ring and you told them _and_ me you didn’t know about his wanting to kill—”

Michael held up a hand and Cas quieted. Talking about Zachariah remained hard. Michael’s face when he had met Cas at the police barracks, getting a rundown on what happened, told Cas that there had been something more sinister at play than just “I want to bulldoze land so I can build something.”

Three days into the investigation, after authorities were authorized a search warrant on Zachariah’s house, they had found dozens of guns with their serial numbers sanded off locked in a chest in the basement with plans on his computer, uncoded messages of an arms trafficking ring Zachariah had been trying to build as one long line across the country, set in a series of strip malls and realtor offices.

Selling illegal guns and ammunition made more money than selling houses. 

And for Lee, Cas learned that selling Dean out to both Zachariah and Michael paid more than being a bartender at a country club in Kansas.

It didn’t take much thought to connect the fact that Zachariah had wanted to build on the south side of town, where land was already being sought out by someone like Michael, so he didn’t have to go through an extensive process to get it all up and running. 

Zachariah didn’t try killing Dean because of just a marriage and some land.

He tried to do it because that marriage, that connection between the families, gave Zachariah unbridled protection. 

Cas had never seen someone look as sick as Michael did when the knowledge came to light.

“I’m not—I’m not putting the cart before the horse on this one,” Michael explained, “Once I get the go-ahead, I’m leaving.”

Cas nodded, understanding. He didn’t think Michael had anything to worry about. He had been played just like Cas had been played.

“Do you guys have your plans? Do you know where you’re going?” Michael asked, trying to keep his tone light.

Cas hesitated as he went to pick up the bag’s strap. He hadn’t ‘made up’ with his brother—he was still angry at everything. Michael seemed apologetic, but he still hadn’t said he was sorry for everything he put Cas and especially Dean through.

Cas just—

“Don’t trust me enough to say, right?” Michael asked, finishing Cas’s thought. 

He didn’t. He didn’t know if he ever would. 

“I’m sorry, but no,” Cas grimaced, throwing the bag over his shoulder. “But, I do think it’s a good idea if you left. Let’s everyone breathe a little.”

Michael offered a wane smile and nodded, looking back down at the carpet.

“Did you hear where Hannah’s going?”

“She’s not staying with—?” 

Michael shook his head, “She told me yesterday she wanted nothing to do with her aunt and uncle, which, I can’t blame her at this point. No—she is heading to… somewhere on the west coast, can’t remember, to try and get into a business school up there,” Michael huffed, then sighed in defeat. “I guess everyone is trying to get out of Dodge.”

Cas stayed in his spot, wanting to leave, but had one last thing to ask.

“Do you think things would have ever gotten like this if you and Dean’s family just…,” Cas trailed off, trying to find the right words.

Michael sighed again, shifting in his spot, uncomfortable.

“I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.”

Cas knew that was the closest to an apology Michael would probably get.

“I won’t, I think, ever understand that dynamic. I wasn’t here enough growing up, I never heard many of the stories—,” Cas hesitated, glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner. He had to get back. “Dean wondered as well. He told me that he pushed you a lot and that maybe none of this would have happened if he hadn’t just left you—this family, alone.”

Silence fell between them and Michael turned, wandering back to the table to get his drink again.

“He had every right to push me,” Michael confessed, taking a sip. “I pushed him, and his father, and his brother tenfold. And I found myself wondering the other day—why?”

He looked up at Cas, confused, and in his eyes, Cas saw forty years of Michael’s life shattered before him. Every lie that Michael had been told probably by their father and grandfather suddenly losing all merit, realizing the damage he had caused. 

Sympathy filled Cas at that thought. He knew what it was like to lose oneself. 

But it was a shame it took Dean nearly dying for Michael to realize all of it.

Sighing, watching the clock, Cas adjusted the bag on his shoulder and started to walk to the door.

“When the time is right, I think you and Dean should have a long talk,” he said, stopping before he got to the hall. “Not right now, not any time soon—but someday. Get this off both your consciences. You both suffered, and there’s no reason to keep it going.”

Michael nodded, putting his drink back down before walking over to the door. He patted Cas on the shoulder at a half-attempt at some kind of comforting gesture, before heading out into the hall. Without a word, he grabbed two other bags Cas had packed and started walking down the stairs to the car. 

Cas didn’t stop him.

Dean kept quiet as they drove back to the cabin. 

Nothing complicated tied up his thoughts or his tongue, and he sat there holding Cas’s hand not needed for driving. No awkwardness filled the car, and Dean knew exactly where he was, where he wanted to go, and who he wanted to be with.

He just needed to _plan._

Despite the painkillers rattling around in his system, Dean’s head remained crystal clear. The concept of being shot by a psychopath arms trafficker hadn’t truly sunken in yet, so he took the time to plan out how to find the right moment to finally say that he loved Cas. 

There were times the words had almost spilled out of his mouth the week and a half he stayed at the hospital, _extremely_ doped up on painkillers. At one point, Cas had fallen asleep past visiting hours but the nurses let him stay. Dean had woken to find Cas still holding his hand, propping his head up with the other, elbow precariously balanced on the chair’s armrest. The heel of his hand had dug into his cheek, leaving a red mark, and it was just about the cutest damn thing Dean had seen in a long while.

He almost said it then. 

He also almost said it when Cas snuck Chinese food into the hospital, God only knows how. 

He also almost said it when he was beginning to doze off in front of the TV, bored with daytime soaps already. Cas had gotten up to close the door, keeping the noise out, and came back to give Dean a light kiss on his neck, cheek, and then his mouth. Dean _really_ almost said it then.

He didn’t want to get too cliche with it, but the hit on his life had pushed him squarely in the column of “make every moment count”. 

So, Dean sat in silence on the 45-minute trip back to the cabin. Plotting. 

Cas didn’t say anything either, and Dean wondered if he was doing the same thing. 

The cabin and its surroundings filled with life in the daylight hours, even if the neighbors weren’t home that afternoon. Birds sang, cicadas tried to scream louder, and the sun played off the green leaves with every soft breeze. It felt like a completely different place than the other night.

A small dose of anxiety spiked through Dean as he glanced at the stairs—regardless if it was night or day, it didn’t change what happened up there.

But what lay beyond the steps—the door, and through the door—the prize. That’s what it was all about.

“No one’s around here, huh,” Dean asked as Cas slammed the trunk closed.

“Mrs. Gonzalez told me she goes to see her daughter every other day for lunch and dinner, and Mickey and his wife went to California for a week or something,” Cas answered, walking up alongside Dean and looking at the empty houses. 

“So you’re saying we’re alone?” Dean asked, turning to look at Cas with an eyebrow raised. There was a small beach just across the way—

“Not out here,” Cas laughed, “They have a mosquito problem and I don’t want that to become _my_ problem.”

“No one’s here though, and no one can hear us—”

“Then we can have the windows wide open if you want,” Cas said with a smile. He patted Dean on the cheek as he moved forward, continuing up the stairs. “And we both know how loud you get so this may be your only chance before the neighbors come back.”

Heat surged to Dean’s face as he followed Cas up the stairs, holding onto the railing with his free hand.

“Well, just for that I’m going to stay extra quiet.”

Cas looked back at him as he unlocked the door.

“I don’t think you know how to be quiet,” he said casually before walking through the door. 

Dean scoffed as he walked up the steps, prepared to call a bet when he stopped in his tracks. A light pink patch on the stone remained, and Cas told him it’d be there no matter how hard he had tried to scrub it away—but it still took Dean aback. 

That was _his_ blood.

He lost that, just like he lost his home, his pool, his friend, his way of life, almost losing his _actual_ life—

But as he stood there and stared, Cas descended down the steps again, taking his hand and leading him back up into the cabin. 

It wasn’t about what they lost anymore. It was about what was about to replace it.

The previous night, his last at the hospital, Dean had asked if Cas would be ready for it, and Cas didn’t hesitate in his confirmation.

Dean allowed himself to be guided up into the cabin, excited to finally see it, and to finally execute his plan, however hastily assembled it was. 

He had intended on getting to business as they crossed the threshold but stopped one step into the cabin as the space unfolded before him. 

For a home rarely used, it was surprisingly clean. Cas had said he hadn’t needed to do much but the floors looked polished, shelves dusted, and everything appeared to have been preserved perfectly while the building had remained locked up.

The small entryway led into a wide hallway with a bathroom to the left, an office space/spare bedroom off to the right. It opened up into a great room with a pitched ceiling and large windows pointed at the lake, allowing an exorbitant amount of light in. The room had an outdated TV mounted on the wall between the windows, above a fireplace with an older sofa and armchairs, looking like they dated back to the ‘80s.

“Do you want to see the kitchen?” Cas asked from behind Dean. Turning, he saw Cas smiling and nodding his head to the left where an archway led to an open kitchen with a permanent island, the same wooden floors, and a couple of rugs, one runner by the sink and another by the small round table that—

“That looks familiar,” Dean said as he walked through the archway over to the table, a small smile on his face.

“Michael let me take it,” Cas explained as Dean ran over the chair he had sat in during two very important conversations. “He offered some more things but I wanted that—and one of the armchairs that my mother liked.”

“He just let you take it?”

Cas nodded, not elaborating. Dean didn’t push it. Cas hadn’t gone into length about how his conversation with Michael went when he returned to the hospital the afternoon he went to Worthington and Dean had left it at that.

“This place is really nice,” Dean mused, looking around the kitchen. It was smaller than the one at his house but… warmer. 

“We haven’t seen all of it yet,” Cas said in response, backing out of the kitchen with a smile on his face.

Dean followed as the anticipation that had started a week and a half ago starting to kick back up again.

“What’s left?” he asked, smirking.

Cas shook his head, still smiling, “Whatever it is you think we’re going to do, we aren’t.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes really—doctor said no strenuous activity while you recover.”

Dean sighed, frustrated. He hoped Cas had forgotten about that.

“And how long is that supposed to be again?”

“Six to eight weeks,” Cas answered, grinning now, taking a step backward for everyone one step forward Dean took.

“If you think I’m going that long without anything then… I don’t know. But it’s not happening,” Dean said, shaking his head. 

Cas stopped right by the sofa, near the door Dean assumed led to their bedroom. He fake frowned, fake thinking it over. The faker.

“I guess there are ways we can make this work.”

Just before Dean could step into Cas’s space, Cas turned and walked into the bedroom. 

Anticipation surged once more.

When he turned the corner and walked into the room, bright with the same mid-morning light, he saw Cas already pulling his shirt off, folding it, like he always did, and place it on the hamper. 

Dean stood in the doorway and watched as Cas turned, undoing his belt. Cas stopped halfway through and looked up at Dean.

“You okay?” 

“Yeah—I’m thinking about some house rules as we, you know, go forward,” Dean said, slowly walking into the room, glancing at the bed. 

“Is that so?” 

Dean nodded, smiling as he stopped in front of Cas, using his free hand to finish sliding the belt free from the buckle, pulling it out through the loops.

“I vote we don’t wear clothes—at all. It’d save on laundry things anyway,” Dean said, looking back up at Cas.

“It’s a good idea,” Cas conceded as he reached up to undo the sling strap over Dean’s shoulder. “But cooking might get messy.”

Dean rolled his eyes as Cas helped him take the sling off in order to remove his shirt. 

“Don’t bring logic into this.”

Cas only smiled as he helped Dean undo the buttons of his shirt. They continued in silence as he slid the shirt over Dean’s shoulders and off, letting it fall to the ground. 

Dean gasped when cold fingers wiggled themselves between his jeans waistband and hip. Cas still had the smirk on his face—just inches away. 

_Say it you idiot_ Dean told himself, staring at Cas’s mouth as the fingers slid themselves to the front, working open his button and fly. 

But when he looked up at Cas, he saw Cas staring right at him, all signs of playfulness gone. Dean had seen that look on Cas’s face several times already—and finally called the play. 

“You wanna tell me something?” 

Cas’s stare faltered and he looked down at his hands, cheeks turning pink. 

“No.”

“I think you want to tell me something.”

Cas shook his head as he looked back up, pulling Dean into a deep kiss that sent fire shooting throughout Dean’s entire body for the first time in what felt like an eternity. 

Pulling away, Cas stayed mere centimeters away from Dean’s mouth. 

“I think you have something to say as well.”

Dean tried to get the kiss back but Cas tilted his head further back, evading him. 

“Did you want to tell me something?” Cas whispered. 

Dean, not able to get another kiss, reached down to the front of Cas’s pants, undoing the button and fly with one hand—struggling but making do. 

“I’m not saying it until you say it,” he whispered back, slipping his hand down once the pants were loosened, drawing a gasp out of Cas. 

“Well–I’m not saying it until you—you say it,” Cas leaned into Dean, drawing him back into another kiss. 

“You think you can outlast me?” Dean asked against Cas’s mouth, working his hand. He could almost feel Cas’s heart rate pick up. 

Cas said nothing but closed his eyes. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against Dean’s good shoulder. They moved slowly next to the bed and Dean shifted his hand to slip under the fabric of Cas’s—

Dean felt Cas mumble something against his shoulder. 

“What was that?” 

Lifting his head, he glared at Dean with his face flushed, pupils blown out, and already breathing hard. They kissed again, unable to move apart anymore. The words were there for both of them _waiting—_

Screw the game. 

“I love you.”


	21. Epilogue

Maine welcomed them with open arms. 

Cas and Dean were coming up on their second fall season in northern New England, already having to rake the leaves out of the yard and start winter preparations. They learned the first time around just how fast it would start snowing and not stop until May.

While the fall and winter proved longer and harder than Kansas, they preferred it. The seasons were built-in excuses to stay inside by the fire reading, watching TV, or laying in front of the hearth with heaps of blankets and pillows, occupying themselves in other, more physical, ways. 

The previous year, they didn’t have storm shutters on their windows, causing some rocks and pebbles to make dings and scratches as they flew around in the strong ocean breeze. They spent the spring replacing the windows and investing in proper storm damage prevention. A blizzard had knocked out their power (and they would come to realize that any storm had the potential to knock out power) but they didn’t have that much wood to use for a fireplace, so they knew next time around to get chopping early. 

They also learned that despite it being Maine, north, and close to Canada, the area could still get hot as hell summer days, but this time with an added humidity that Kansas just wasn’t used to. They had no air conditioner, and to keep costs low, they kept it that way. On those insufferable days, they took long swims in the ocean by day and clinked bottles, celebrating what they had, by evening.

They tried ocean sex once, and while it was good, it wasn’t worth the hassle. Dean had moved it into the “no shower sex, no pool sex” column, and Cas didn’t blame him as he sneezed saltwater for a week.

They wound up living farther north than intended in the town of Victory—picked for a reason despite it not at the same house Cas had remembered from the picture. The place needed a massive overhaul but it turned out Dean really liked fixing things around the house, and Cas found that he really liked to watch. 

They didn’t mind the work. It made the place their own.

Victory’s own center resided further inland and was just a fraction of the population of Worthington, standing with just over a thousand residents. It felt remote, but not isolating, and it was only a half-hour ride into Bar Harbor if they wanted to go out to eat. 

No one bothered them, no one cared about their personal life, but they did welcome them with open arms.

Despite Cas’s nest egg, they both had decided that it didn’t mean they shouldn’t still get jobs, even though the cost of living was substantially cheaper in Victory. 

Victory’s only catholic church, South Victory Church of Christ, had an opening for a new church director, and Dean encouraged Cas to take it—they both had a renewed sense of faith, Cas especially. He had informed them of his sexuality right off the bat, half expecting to be turned away—but instead was immediately welcomed. He even wound up teaching bible study on Sundays.

Sometimes Dean went to mass, and sometimes he didn’t. The times he did, he behaved himself. Cas once asked what Dean prays for when they all have to bow their heads, but Dean didn’t tell him, telling him it was “a secret” but with that bright, playful spark in his eye. He also helped Cas at church functions with the food, putting to good use their kitchen they invested heavily in. 

Dean had the option of either taking up a part-time job as a mechanic at a garage between Victory and Bar Harbor, or as a bartender at a small palace in Victory—but eventually went back to working on cars. Bartending seemed tainted after what happened in Worthington, but he told Cas that maybe someday he’d try it.

Indeed the fears of somehow not making it, or that the thing that would shatter their dream was lurking right around the corner, remained. 

They occasionally had small spats or downright shouting matches, just like any other couple, but they were usually resolved by the end of the day with them whispering their declarations of love in bed, or on a table, or on the back patio couch, or on the inside couch, or on the armchair, or really anywhere they happened to be at the time where they could comfortably get at each other underneath those layers, clothes, any anxieties that were pushing their emotions to an unfavorable level. 

But after two years, going onto three, the fear they would not make it together was gone. Instead of fading, their feelings only grew as they learned more and more about each other. There were no obstacles or third party instigators—

There was nothing in their way of living life out together in that small little cabin in the small little town. 

Every day, at least three times a day, they reminded each other how much they loved each other either through words or actions. 

It was a future neither of them once thought would be possible. It was hard for them to even look back at a time before they met each other and remember what life was like. 

All the concerns from Dean that he’d wind up like his father, miserable, drunk, depressed to the point of indirect suicide, didn’t seem to be happening or anywhere close to happening, and Cas never once showed a hint of anger, resentment, or selfishness like his family. 

They still had a long way to go, but the eagerness, determination, and love, only ever grew day by day, month by month, year by year. 

It was a victory for them both. 

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello!  
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I wanted to start by saying that despite how rough this whole year has been, this Fandom remained amazing and I am so happy that even though the show is ending, we will all remain SPN family!
> 
> Personally, this story was difficult to write due in part of how this year has gone. I struggled through my Pinefest in early spring, then couldn't write at all afterward (save for one small fic). I didn't allow myself to enjoy things I liked doing because enjoying them felt like I was tempting this pandemic. I also moved out of my apartment in March for mental health reasons and never returned, so I have been without a writing desk and my own space for 8 months. 
> 
> But I was very determined to complete this DCBB. Even if I couldn't muster up all of my writing muse, I was going to get some of it back. I wanted a happy ending story, and I think right now we could all use a happy story*.
> 
> *I'm saying this before 15x20 airs haha
> 
> I wrote 30,000 in a week while on vacation in Rhode Island late-June and I think that's when I was able to finally awaken my muse just a little bit, enough to get the ball rolling. This is inspired off of Romeo and Juliet to the point of rival families, arranged marriages, ALMOST love at first sight—I even named the Priest Joshua "Laurence" lol. There are a few other references but I wanted to make sure it didn't have the tragic ending that Romeo and Juliet had. I also didn't want them wanting to get married within a single night. Come on Shakespeare! 
> 
> I did struggle with this right up until the night before posting. Not having a writing space to call your own after 2 and a half years OF having one is rough. I'm not unhappy with the writing or the story—I'm proud of it. But I did struggle at times but it only showed me, as I pushed through it, that if I am determined enough to get something done, there will always be a way for me to do it. 
> 
> So thank you all so so much for reading! 
> 
> The BEAUTIFUL artwork is thanks to Dulce Compañia / @dulce_sagrada on Twitter and @castielangeldelaguarda on Tumblr! 
> 
> My AMAZING, TRULY ASTOUNDING beta is the lovely [KelpietheThundergod/Cuddlemonsterdean(tumblr)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelpietheThundergod) with help by @Malallory (tumblr). Both are amazing folks and I am so so so grateful for them. 
> 
> Again, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it.
> 
> Jen - wigglebox


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